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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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HoUinger Corp, 
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PS 635 
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Copy 1 



Tom Oreo 



Littlebee's Mine. 



A Play in Four Acts. 



SCENES IN PARIS AND NEW YORK CONTRASTED 

WITH ROCKY MOUNTAIN LIFE IN NEW 

SILVER MINING REGIONS. 



BY 
FRANK J. SCOTT. 



^m^ 




TOLEDO: 
Barkdull Printing House. 

1886. 



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■^Cs 



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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, by 

Frank J. Scott, 

In the Office of Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



TMP96-00T327 



Co oJo&epfe Qielpr&on, 
Xfee Lictoz, 

^u t»e clutteoz. 



INTRODUCTION. 



T~AURING the seasons of '80 to '83, the writer was one of the pioneer 
■^"'^ explorers of a part of the Saw-tooth range in Central Idaho, in con- 
stant contact with mine prospectors in the mountains, summers, and win- 
ters occasionally meeting with mine brokers, or " promoters," in New York. 
Some of the contrasts in life and business between these two extremes 
of society, impressed me as good material for a play; and although I had 
no experience in this field of literature, the desire to picture what was in 
my mind became so strong that in the summer of 1883, while at Hailey, 
Idaho Territory, I wrote the following play. Returning to the East in the 
fall, I found the country was being flooded with a mass of new plays — 
uiostly roaring comedies; and that the taste for the latter seemed universal. 
I concluded that this sober child of mine would have little welcome in the 
midst of that hilarious crowd. I therefore put the manuscript away in a 
draw — to season. Quite lately I became curious, after its three years 
storage, to read it. As the result, I have to confess to a grave indiscretion. 
Though a married man, and well along in 3'ears, I actually fell in love 
with Littlebee's wifef A gush of affection also came back for Oreo, who 
proves such a noble fellow, that I cannot resist a fatherly impulse to intro- 
duce him to all my friends. Hence this print. 

While Oreo and the rest of the family were growing on my hands in 
the fair valley of Wood River, near the peaks of the rugged Saw-Tooth 
mountains, there was one actor constantly associated with Oreo in my 
mind; — and but one. Who could it be but rare old Joseph Jefferson } If, 
thought I, if only Jefferson would personate Oreo, the name might become 
distinguished. But when the play was done and could have been sent to 
him, there came before me the impression that Mr. Jefferson only plays the 
pieces he learned when younger, and would be bored by having his atten- 
tion called to a novice's new play when the world is filled with better old 



vi INTRODUCTION. 

ones. I was humbled also to think that he might, on unrolling the manu- 
script to the light, cast one glance of agony upon its numerous leaves, and 
then with a joyous smile of relief, consign it to the lire. So neither he nor 
any other actor has had an opportunity to tell me — "burn it, Mr, Scott, — 
burn it." With more generosity, I can now give them an opportunity to 
burn it the'T.selves. If any of the profession receive a cop}', (in which case 
they are suavely invited to read it from beginning to end,) they are hereby 
reminded that if it serves them in no other way, it will start a fire, light 
many cigars, or nestle gratefully as curl-paper about the heads of the 
fair ones into whose hands it may fall. Since nothing is lost in this world, 
(the printer is paid,) I now make bold to throw this little winged seed 
down among the drifts of autumn leaves that nourish old earth by their 
decay, and occasionally warm into growth and permanent life one in a 
thousand of the seeds they cover. 

Frank J. Scott. 
Toledo^ O., December 2oth, iS86. 



PLAN OF PLAY. 



ACT I. 

Scene i. Paris. Introduces Thomas Oreo, Isabella Vernon and George 

Newcomb. 
Scene 2. Isabella Vernon's parlors, Hotel L'Athene, Paris. 
Scene 3. Isabella in her chamber. 
Scene 4. New York. Two years after preceding. Introduces Charles 

Frederick Littlebee and his wife, Dolly Littlebee, just married. Both 

are old -family cockney New Yorkers, in quite moderate circumstances. 

Littlebee is elated over the purchase of a so-called mine, into which he 

has been inveigled by brokers. 
Scene 5. Boreel Building, New York. Introduces Baitem and Stnngem, 

the mine brokers, and Jim Also, "the honest miner." 
Scene 6. Residence of Mr. Weave, 57th street, of the firm of Weave and 

Grab, bankers. Introduces Mr. Weave and Mrs. Weave, (formerly 

Isabella Vernon,) and others. 
Scene 7. I.ittlebee's home, same evening. 

ACT II. 

Scene i. Shoshone, Idaho Territory. Passenger stage to the mines. 

Introduces characters peculiar to the country, with Oreo and Littlebee 

meeting for the first time. 
Scene 2. Rocky Dam— a mining camp. Stage unloading. A "hotel." 
Scene 3. A garret corral of miners' beds. Littlebee writing Dolly. 
Scene 4. Street of Rocky Dam. Oreo befriending Littlebee. 
Scene 5. In the mountains. The mine swindle disclosed. 
Scene 6. Mrs. Littlebee in New York, reading Charles' letters. 

ACT III. 

Scene i. Oreo's cabin, near Rocky Dam. Oreo, his men, and Littlebee. 
Scene 2. Littlebee in the mountains with Oreo's prospectors. 
Scene 3. Oreo's cabin. Return from prospecting. 

Scene 4. Mrs. Littlebee in plain rooms in New York, with a spinster 
aunt, reading Charles' letters. 

ACT IV. 

Scene i. Paris. Hotel L'Athene ;— (fifteen years after preceding scene.) 
Littlebee's parlors. Mr. and Mrs. L., with two daughters. Strange 
rencontres. 

Scene 2. Hotel L'Athene attic room. Mrs. Weave dying. Oreo and 
servants. 



Persons of the Play. 



Thomas Ok^o, a traveled man. 

'Isabella Vernon, {^becomes Mrs. Weave,] an imperious., fiery moman. 

George Newcomb, a youth '■'■doing''' Europe. 

Charles Frederick Littlebee, a voting N'eiv Yorker. 

Dolly Littlebee, his wife. 

Mr. Baitem, a mine broker. 

Mr. Stringem, his partner. 

Mr. Weave, a wealthy banker. 

Jim Also, a miner. 

Judge Pike, a Missouri judge strayed West. 

Senator , of Washington . 

Stage Driver, from California. 
Pong Whong, /rww Canton. 
Mr. Glasser, bar-keeper. 
Mike Quartzeye, a Yorkshire miner. 
Chris. Pickit, a N'evada ndner. 
Oriette and Tommie, Littlebee' s daugJiters 
Spinster Aunt of Mrs. Littlebee. 
Marie, a French maid. 
■Other servants. 



LITTLEBEES MINE 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. Hotel in Paris. Tom Oreo, Geo. Newcomb, Servant. 

Servant, \^Handing Oreo a card. 'I 

Oreo. George Newcomb! Show him up. [Soliloquy.] — Am glad he's 
come. He may be shallow, but he's a jolly rattler, and — sincere. A 
society rag-bag with a gay cover, and good stuff" in it. [Enter Nezvcomb.] 
Glad to see you, George. Good gracious! how tanned you are! 

Newcomb. Been in Switzerland all summer — joined the Alpine Club, 
been grafted English on the ground line, [shozvs his big walking shoes,] and 
havn't had time to peel oft' soles or mountain skin. 

Oreo. Did you really enjoy the mountain climbing } 

Newcomb. I suppose so. The club swore 't was glorious^and — damn it — 
it 's the thing to do, you know. When you come down to the hotels the 
ladies all ask you — have you been to the Jungfrau ^ — the Wetterhorn .'' — the 
Aarhorn } — the Schreckhorn? — and the Lord only knows how many other 
horns, except the horns we like best — and a fellow likes to say — oh, yes! 
and tell about the hair-breadth 'scapes on the icy cliffs, the dizzy hights, 
the fearful crevasses, and a' that and a' that. The dear creatures are as 
curious as Desdemona ; but they prefer going to dinner to hearing the end 
of your story just the same. When I talked to Isabella Vernon about our 
trip to Jungfrau crest, she had a far-awaj' look, as if she wished herself a 
man to do those big things, and then cooly said: — "Why did n't you stay up 
there ?" She's ah^ays cutting a fellow up just when he least expects it. 
You 're the only man, Oreo, she 's decent to. 

Oreo. She's a magnificent girl. But the man who wins her for a wife 
will live in a cyclone. I 'd like to see her again. We had a happy time in 
Rome together last winter. 

Nezvcomb. She 's in Paris notv.^ at the Hotel L'Athene, and told me not 
an hour ago that she would be glad to see you. 

Oreo. I shall go at once. How did she come out with that Lord Du- 
den who went for her so confidently about the time I was leaving ? 



2 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Newcomb. {Laughing.]^ Oh! the woman! When you were there she 
was quite sweet on him: was n't she ? Well, the moment you were gone 
she snubbed him and cut him up so awfully that he picked up his baggage 
and quit Rome. Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! — how innocently she said to him one 
day looking straight at him — "Isn't it queer, Lord Duden, I never see an 
English nobleman but what I involuntarily look to see the length of his 
ears. But then yours," she added kindly, — "are no longer than a noble- 
man's should be: — only your head is so small they look so! " 

Oreo. Beautiful leopard! — with the feline instinct to play with her prey 
before crunching it. She was born so. She can 't help it. 

Newcomb. They say in Rome that Tom Oreo might tame her if no one 
else could. 

Oreo. When Tom Oreo takes a wife it will not be to play Van Am- 
burg. I am credited with a strong will; but when I have to think of a wife 
as a beast-tamer does of the tiger he is about to cowe, I 'd leave her. I 
wont be dominated or hen-pecked by man or woman; but before I 'd try 
to mould or subdue the spirit of Isabella Vernon, I 'd go to the jungles of 
India and try my powers on creatures of inferior capacity. No, no, no, 
George; — a wife that has to be subjugated is not for my cabin. 

Newcomb. But were n't you smitten a little— eh .? 

Oreo. Of course I was; — and will be again when I see her. But Tom 
Oreo's will, is — not to cross swords with a woman: especially if I love her. 

Newcomb. You 're afraid ? 

Oreo Yes, that 's just it. I might maim her. She 'd surely cripple me. 
What sort of a menage would that make .? 

NewcoJ7ib. Your head is level, Tom.— but— look out ! 

Oreo, Now tell me all about your travels since last winter. 

Newcotub. Another time, Tom. Dropped in now just to say how d' ye 
do, and to deliver Isabella's message, and must get out of these barges {his 
shoes] instanter. Am at the L'Athene. Au revoir. 

Oreo. {Alone.] Well, I might as well go to meet my charmer at once. 

{End.] 



SCENE 2. Isabella Vernon's Parlors, Hotel L'Athene, Paris. 

[ Servant brings in Mr. Oreo's card. ] 

Isabella. [ Takes card., flushes, smiles., passes before the glass., adjusts her hair., 
pronounces in a tone of deep satisfaction., Tom C/w.]- Show the gentleman up, 
Marie. {Oreo enters.] 

Oreo. Welcome to Paris, Miss Vernon. [ With frank and cordial greeting.] 

Isabella. {Holding his hand.] Am real glad to see you so promptly, Mr, 
Oreo; was afraid you might have left Paris, or might be too much occu- 
pied with other friends to come so quickly. Did George see you ? 

Oreo. Yes, Miss Vernon; I have just left him and wished to lose no 
time in answering your kind summons. How are you ? But it 's stupid 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 3 

of me to ask ! You cannot be deceitful enough to look so superbly and 
not be well. 

Isabella. With all my faults, Mr. Oreo, I hope you will credit me with 
not being deceitful. {She laughs aloud.'] But they do say — some do — that 
I 'm a she devil! but there's this great difference between me and the horn- 
ed old gentleman — he is deceitful, and I am not. Is n't that so, Mr. Oreo ? 

Oreo. Certainly. No one who knows Isabella Vernon would charge 
that. 

Isabella. But you don't add that you disbelieve the common report of 
my resemblance, otherwise, to the Prince of Darkness! 

Oreo. I am too partial a judge to trust you to the common jurors. 

Isabella. I do hope, my good friend, you think better of me than the rab- 
ble of people I meet. I tread on them, and they hate me. But you— w^ at 
least are equals — and \{ you respect and admire me I am content that the 
crowd hate me as much as they please. 

Oreo. The royal magnolia has little need to ask the traveller under its 
bloom to respect and admire it. 

Isabella. What a finished flatterer you 've got to be. But I am weak 
enough to like it from you, Mr. Oreo. Am so glad to see you so soon— 
and havn't even taken your hat! 

Oreo. May be it 's safer to keep hold ol it should you become dangerous, 
and I need to run. 

Isabella. Then I '11 keep it to hold you. But Mr. Oreo, you are not one 
to run either from friend or enemy. 

Oreo. So far mistaken. I often run from both. Friends may beguile 
to do what one had better not do, and enemies are better avoided than 
quarrelled with. 

Isabella. Do you never enjoy quarrelling 't 

Oreo. Never. 

Isabella. Nonsense. We quarrelled all the time we were in Rome ; and 
I flattered myself you rather enjoyed it— at least you struck back quite 
lustily when /quarrelled, and cut and came again — without avoiding it 
much. 

Oreo. Well — yes. I do like to play war with the tongue — provided 
always I don't hurt anybody— and don't get hurt. That's sparring- 
fencing — not fighting. 

Isabella. But when it comes to real fighting, that must be ever so much 
more interesting. If I were a man I 'd like it. Now be honest. Don't 
you sometimes feel like running a man through — just to see him at your 
feet — and you with your foot on him } 

Oreo. No. 

Isabella. And you pretend to say you never feel like cutting a man up- 
some man you despise or hate, for instance .? 

Oreo. Yes, momently; but unless he attacked me first, I'd rather turn 
my back on the man than hurt him first. 

Isabella. Mr. Oreo, you 're not half that much of a christian as you 'd 



4 LITTLE BEE'S MLNE. 

make believe. You Ve as much devil in you as I have, only you havn't 
the frankness to let it out. 

Oreo. Exactly. That 's just the part of me that I don 't want to let out. 
I want to put my loot on it and say — There ! little devil, stay down ! stay 
down!! I wont let you out if I 'm strong enough to keep you down. 

Lsabella. Really, Mr. Oreo, you're taking a new role — the christian 
philosopher! But I like you better when we are quarrelling. 

Oreo. When we are playing with foils you mean. Suppose instead of 
foils I use a rapier and wound you deeply.? 

Lsabella. I would wound you and have my revenge. 

Oreo. Result ! Two ruffled, damaged, maimed specimens of humanity, 
ugly with hate, instead of two healthy, clean, good natured ones. The 
boys' game with mud-balls seems to me refined and cleanly compared with 
the business of grown men and women who fight to make wounds with 
tongue, pen or sword, that neither water, soap nor oil can cleanse or cure. 

Lsabella. Then we '11 call our quarrels mud-balling, and be children 
again. 

Oi'eo. Who will throw the first mud 1: 

Isabella. Of course the man is always the aggressor — when women are 
in question. Abuse me if you dare ! 

Oreo. Mud-balls at Juno! What a horrible suggestion. 

Lsabella. Say an arrow at Venus, from the quiver of Achilles. 

Oreo. To frighten, but not to wound : for what warrior would wound 
the Goddess of Love ? 

Isabella. Must you not wound to conquer '^. The Goddess has her 
archer. She would like no better sport than to lodge cupid's arrow in the 
heart of Mr. Oreo. 

Oreo. Imagine me like a grizzly bear, stuck full of arrows that do not 
reach the heart. I face the Goddess and accept the battle. But my dear 
friend, let us change the subject. 

Lsabella. [Blushing and enraged.] You defy me and do not— 1 — ike me 
enough to — fight for me. "Magnolia," — [impetuously and scornfully] "Juno," — 
" Venus! " Fool am I to drink your flattering words as if there were a 
heart behind them: you the only man I did not despise — aye [fie7-cely] — 
whom I loved — turned to ice when I have betrayed my heart. Go. 

Oi'eo. My dear old friend, patience. 

Lsabella. Go. 

Oreo. Isabella — 

Lsabella. GO. 

Oreo. Isabella! 

Lsabella. GO ! or I '11 kill thee ! [Seizes a paper knife and rushes at him.^ 
striking a fierce blow at his hearty breaking the knife ; then rushes from the room in 
a paroxysm of baffled rage and mortification.] 

Oreo. [Slightly wounded.] All my own fault. I deserve to be stabbed 
with more than a wooden dagger for having played with the eternal fire. 
[He takes his hat and retires sorrowfully.] 



LITTLEBEE\S MINE. 5 

SCENE 3. Isabella in her chamber, pacing the floor with impetuous 

agitation. 

[Servant brings a note. She opens it in rage and seeing Oreo^s writing crunches 
)?V, throws it on the floor and stamps on it ; paces the floor again a fezu moments^ then 
stops by the letter., hesitatingly picks it up., uncrumples it., draws a deep breath, and 
reads it.] 

[Letter.] 

Isabella Vernon : — Hate me if jou will, but read these few words. I 
shall be gone when they reach you. I received news only a few days since 
that all my fortune had been lost by the administrator of my father's estate. 
It necessitates my return to the States to begin work for subsistence. I 
was all-glad to learn of 3'our unexpected return to Paris, so that I might 
renew for one hour only the pleasure your company has always given me. 
I wanted your kindly wishes and good bye, never dreaming that conversa- 
tion could lead where it did, and barred by the change of my fortune from 
permitting myself to think for one moment of love or wedlock in connec- 
tion with my admiration and friendship for Isabella Vernon. Forgive — 
and do not hate me. Thy friend, 

T. Oreo. 

[Isabella throws herself prone upon the bed., burying her head in her hands.] 

[End of Scene 3.] 



SCENE 4 Scene, New York, two years after preceding. Persons, 
Charles Frederick Littlebee and Mrs. Littlebee, [Dolly,] at home 
after dinner — evening. 

Littlebee. [Putting down his paper and going to Dolly^s chair to kiss her,] 
Well, Dolly, I 've got something to tell you to night that will make you 
prick up your ears and wonder all over. 

Dolly. What in the world is it.? Now don't tease and keep me waiting. 

Littlebee. Guess, then. 

Dolly. Jenny Todd married ? 

Littlebee. Guess again. 

Dolly. It is n't Mary Glover, is it ? 

Littlebee, No, no, no. Can 't you guess anything but weddings .? 

Dolly. Well, what can it be then ? 

Littlebee. Can 't you tell by my looks what it is } 

Dolly. Oh yes ! You "ve gone and bought that sweet dress we were 
looking at the other day at Lord's; — you know I told you we could not af- 
ford it — but you are always doing such sweet things for me, darling. [Kisses 
him.] 

Littlebee, [A little nettled.] No, pet ; I did n't go and do it this time: I 
was prudent — perhaps selfish and sordid. 

Dolly. Don't ever say that, Charles. You know you could n't be sel- 
fish if you were to try. I know what it is: — you 've been getting that love 



6 LIT T LEBER'S' MEKE. 

of a spring suit that I told jou about — that suit I saw in Brooks'; I wished' 
all the time you could have it to wear this summer when we go to Squam^ 
beach or somewhere. And now you 've got it ? Oh won't you look toney ! 
[Clapping her hands.] Now, it's real stupid of you to call yourself selfish 
when you know you will need it — and I shall be so proud of you. You 
know I 'd rather have you get that suit than anything in the world. 

Littlebee. Oh you are a woman! 

Dolly. I suppose that 's why you married me, 

LiUlebee. Yes, I must admit that that had something to do with it. Yes,. 
I rather think — perhaps — that your being a woman had a material intia- 
ence in drawing me into — in inspiring those sentiments of affection and — 

Dolly. Getting married. 

Littlebee. Yes. That about expresses the whole thing in a nut-shell. 
Thank heaven I did not marry a man. Why, Dolly, I would n't give the 
right of eminent domain over that little finger for all the men in the world, 
not to say anything about the lips and a' that and a' that, \Kisses her again \ 
But you goose, you have n't come within gun-shot of guessing what I 've 
been doing. 

Dolly. Of course I wont guess it if its something selfish and sordid — 
unless you call it selfish to have me all to yourself. But what made you. 
think of the eminent Domine when you held my hands? 

Littlebee. [Laitghing immoderately. \ That's too good, Dolly — too good to 
keep. Eminent domain — -eminent Domine. Ha, ha, ha ! What eminent 
Domine came into your head ? 

Dolly. Oh Charley, how meait you are ! You are too mean for any- 
thing. It was you who mentioned about the eminent Domine and my 
little hands — you know it was — onlj' you made slang and called him dough- 
main. You are really getting too careless and slangy in j'ou conversation, 
Charles. It is n't respectful to nick-name ministers so. Why couldn't 
you say Domine plain, and not make fun of the minister in your shy way 
by calling him dough-vc\2i\w ? You know, Charly, I don't love our minister 
a speck compared with you — but if you laugh at me so, I don't know what 
I shall do. 

Littlebee. Oh pet, I wont, I wont, I 'm sorry. But it was so funnv the 
way you misunderstood me. 

Dolly. I didn't misunderstand you. I know what you said, and I don't 
know what there is to laugh at. 

Littlebee. Well, dear ; I 'II take it all back if you '11 forgive me and 
come back to business. 

Dolly. I don't want to hear about business, 

Littlebee. Don't you want to hear the important and extraordinary step 
in life that I have been taking to-day.^ the most important, Dolly, that I 
have ever taken — except that one when we — you know. Now Dolly I 
want to talk this step all over with you, for you see, if you don't think as I 
do about it perhaps our happiness is gone forever. 

Dolly. Oh, Charles! What have you been doing ,? 



LITT LEBER'S MINE. 7 

Littlebee. [ Taking her on his lap.] Well, Dolly, in a word, I 've been buy- 
ing a mine ! 

Dolly. { Laughing outright. ] You bought a mine! You, my little 
Charles Frederick Littlebee, with two thousand dollars a yedi\-—you bought 
a mine ? How big we are! Are you Vanderbilt ? Am I Mrs. Mackay r 
or is my Charles crazy? or, you rascal! putting a joke on me again ? 

Littlebee. [ With boy assumption of dignity.] No, I 'm doing nothing of the 
sort. I, Charles Frederick Littlebee — I, have bought a mine ! 

Dolly. Why, Charles, you know it takes millions and millions to buy a 
•inine ? Oh 3'ou rogue! I know now. You don't fool me again. You 've 
been buying government land like Bob Akerman out in Michigan or 
Oregon, or some of those western territories and you 've got a coal mine 
on it. There ! Havn't I guessed ? I heard Bob say that any wild land is 
liable to have coal on it, and you've got a coal mine. Havn't I guessed.^ 

Littlebee. That's a pretty good guess Dolly, for a little girl that don't 
know anything about mining ; [with the air of a man who knows he htoztis,] 
but it is something far different. / have bought a silver mine — a real silver 
mine., though I am not Vanderbilt or any other big-bug. I have bought it 
with my own money, too. 

Dolly. How can that be Charles ? You have told me always that you 
have only two thousand dollars a year and we would have to live so snug 
to make both ends meet, and all that, and that you were afraid to marry 
until you got the position of secretary in that great mining company — 
with a name so long it ought to have its head and tail cut off — so that you 
got twelve hundred dollars a year more — and then you said: — " Now dar- 
ling, I can support you," and we got married. Now how have you bought 
a mine? 

Littlebee. Well, you see these things go by skill in finance ! Let me lay 
it out to you. You know father, when he died, left me forty thousand dol- 
lars in United States six per cent, bonds. That gave me twenty-four 
hundred dollars interest a year. But last year the government called in 
my bonds and gave new ones at four per cent., making me only sixteen 
hundred dollars interest a year. 

Dolly. Oh ! the mean thing to take your six per cents, and stick up four 
per cents, in their place I 

Littlebee. The government has a right to pay its debts, you know. The 
government would have paid me my forty thousand dollars if I had 
chosen ; but you know how Jack Hood and Will Jackson and Bob Fast 
went down in a jiffy and lost all they had in stocks about that time; and 
Roger Walters got ruined in grain, and Jim Whitehead in cotton, and 
Fred Wines in log-wood speculations ; so I concluded to be on the safe 
side and stick to the government. I let the government keep my money. 

Dolly. Why, Charley, I didn't know that you were supporting the 
government — and never said a word to me about it ! Did the President 
send for you ? Tell me all about it. 

Littlebee. No — I — I sent for the President — but he didn't come. But the 



8 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Secretary of the Treasury wrote me all that was necessary, and I closed' 
the business through Weave and Grab, my bankers in Wall Street, who 
collect my coupons. Well, that brought me down to sixteen hundred dol- 
lars a year. One day I was talking to Mr. Weave how hard it was to 
come down from twenty-four hundred dollars to sixteen hundred dollars, 
and how I had hoped to marry soon, but must wait till I had more in- 
come. It was very kind tlie way he interested himself in me, and asked me 
how I would like to take the position of Secretary to a mining company. 
He said the salary would be merely nominal at first — twelve hundred dol- 
lars, or that matter — but it might lead to important connections with the 
company — and — if I would accept it — thought he could get it for me. I 
told him that there was nothing I so much desired as to be an industrious 
member of the business world. Nothing could give him more pleasure, he 
said, than to be of service to me. Good of him, wasn't it .^ 

Dolly. Yes, indeed. 

Littlebee. A few days after, I received a note from Weave and Grab re- 
questing me to meet the board of directors of the Deep-down Consolidated 
Gold and Silver Mining and Milling Company, office No. 320 Boreel build- 
ing, at three o'clock the next day. I have told you how polite and pleas- 
ant they are to me, and how I would never have dared to marry you, my 
pet, if it had n't been for that extra hundred a month I got for doing noth- 
ing for the great company. There 's Mr. Baitem — he was the first man 
of the directors Mr. Weave introduced me to. I never have seen a more 
perfect gentleman — and such a big head and generous air. Mr. Weave in- 
troduced me as a young capitalist who desired to obtain some little business 
connection — just to keep hi'Ti from rusting — as it were. That expressed it 
exactly, Dolly. You know how I hate to be idle. When I talked with 
Mr. Baitem about how it pinched us to be getting only sixteen hundred dol- 
lars out of our forty thousand invested with the government, he assured me 
that he could make much better investments than that for me. But he 
would not take the responsibility of advising me. He is very conscientious. 
But I 've had my eyes and ears open, Dolly, I can tell you ; and I 've been 
hearing things about mine investments and mine developments and all 
that; and I've come to the conclusion I might just as well be a rich man 
as a poor one. Mr. Baitem is full of information, and has told me every- 
thing about mines — and I 've been reading all about them too. There are 
not many men that know more about mines and mining than I do, Dolly. 

Dolly. Why should they, dear 1 Only think of it, Charlie ; there 's Tom 
Alluck who don't know enough to keep out of a puddle, and he 's got 
more money back in a year than he had all the rest of his life. Of course 
a iTian who knows all about mining as you do, must do better than he. 

Littlebee. Yes, and not stumble on it, either, but get it \_with a look of solid 
wisdom\ by judgment, foresight, knowledge, experience. Well, Dolly, to 
make a long story short, I've bought a mine recommended to me by Mr. 
Baitem after a thorough investigation by myself. 

Dolly. How 's that, Charley ? How dXdi yoti investigate a mine ? 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 9 

Lrttlcbee. By information from various parties, one of whom is a plain, 
honest, practical miner, and has seen it. Another is a geologist who 
knows the kind of rocks where the mine is, and tells me that great mines 
are found in just such rocks ; and one is liable at any moment to strike it 
rich. Mr. Baitem and I went over all the facts together:— the location, not 
a hundred miles from the great Eureka and in the Rocky Mountains where 
all great mines have been found ; the geological formation, character of 
the vein, and the very ore itself, a piece of which the miner, Jim Also, (fun- 
ny name, is n't it ?) brought away with him in his vest pocket ; and he saj^s 
the mountain is full of the same sort wherever you find it. I had that ore 
assayed by a disinterested assayer, and he tells me emphaticalh' that if there 
is plenty of ore in the mine half as good as that, the owner ought io be a 
rich man. Now, Dolly, what do you think of my judgment as a financier 
and mine-examiner } 

Dolly. Why of course, if you have investi — katydid — what a horrid 
word that is — of course you know. 

Littlebee. Well, after establishing fully the profitable character of the 
mine, I got it of course as cheap as I could — I paid only twenty thousand 
dollars for it. That leaves twenty thousand dollars of my capital in 
reserve, you know. Isn't that prudent } If I go out there and find it all 
right, Mr, Baitem has promised to put it on the New York stock market — 
and then — my fortune will be made. But its bed time; we must not talk 
any more, or we '11 dream of it. 

Dolly. Indeed I will. I'll dream of the mines of Golconda — 

LUtlebee. Why, that's just the name of my mine! 

Dolly. And Mrs. Mackay and Paris. 

Littlebee. Well, we '11 have to go to bed first. 

Dolly. Oh, Charley, I knew you were good, but I never dreamed that 
you were a great financier supporting the government — and now a mine. 

Littlebee. Mine own. \His arm around her zvaist.] 

[ Exeunt. ] 



SCENE 5. Baitem & Stringem's office of the Deep-down, &c. M. & 
M. Co., 320 Boreel building. Littlebee and Jim Also. Baitem and 
Stringem alone in their office the afternoon preceding the previous 
scene. 

Baitem. Ha ! ha ! The lamb came down easy, didn't he ! If it wasn't 
for having to divide with that blood-sucker over in Wall street, this would 
be a pretty good year's business. 

Stringem. You were so devilish slow getting the boy on the hook that I 
feared you might let him slip, but the sight of his bonds made me feel again 
that my name is Stringem. Now, we've got to pay Jim Also one thous- 
and dollars for the mine. He's beneath your fine art partner. I'll pay 
him this evening — take him out to the theater, and if I don't get that thous- 



TO LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

and into some of our lame stock to-morrow, I '11 pay the champaigne anxf 
jou make the party. But Weave and Grab are another sort of game. 
They intend to eat us. 

Baiteni. Smooth's the word — slow and steady. Leave them to me. By 
the way, I think we had better go up to Weave's hous« this evening after 
dinner so as to get rid of Grab. His blunt hoggishness disconcerts me. 

Stringem. Good idea. 

\ Enter Jim Also^ the honest miner ] 

Baitem and Stringem. [Cordiaily.] Good evening, good evening, Mr. 
Also. Just the man we want to see. We've got your thousand dollars 
for the Golconda, [Stringetn hands a check for %i,ooo.] This will be good at 
the bank to morrow. Better than fifty dollars isn't it } Ha, ha ! Here's 
ten dollars to congratulate with at the theater this evening. Where shall 
we go ? After the theater — scenes in New York high life, eh — eh; old 
boy? 

Also. Say California Minstrels, first. 

Stringem. All right, get tickets for two, and I will join you between 
eight and nine. Have an engagement after dinner. 

Also. Shall I wait for you ? 

Stringem. No, no, no, old fellow. Go in and see the fun when it begins. 
Turn down a seat for me and I '11 be in al the death 

Also. All right. Let 's have a drink. 

[Eftd of Scene 5.] 



SGENE 6. Mr. Weave's residence, 57th street. Baitem and Stringem 
are ushered into the parlor. 

Weave Ah ! Good evening, gentlemen. Glad to see you. What 's 
the news ? Walk into the library. [Cigars are passed.] 

Baitem. Well, Mr. Weave, we have taken jour lamb into our fold and 
his money is safe where it is subject to our negotiations. 

Weave. You refer to the gentle Littlebee, I presume. Did you take 
him in entire, or did you permit him to withhold a part of his bonds } 

Baitem. We exercised due consideration and kindly accepted twenty 
thousand dollars for Also's Golconda. The remainder of the bonds he 
insisted on reserving for his wife — and family that may be. I commended 
his prudence but suggested rare investments in store for him. 

Weave. You have done fairly well ; though, if Grab were here, he 
would get red-in-the-face-mad to find you making two bites of this little 
cherry. You '11 have to keep the boy in as secretary till you get the other 
half. It takes time to make a good finish of these things. I will see that 
Littlebee's reservation cheerfully follows its betterhalf in due time. Have 
you the bonds .'' 

Stringem. Not here, but on deposit in escrow. 

Baitem. And we have simply come up to-night to arrange for the divis- 
ion to-morrow. 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 11 

Weave. That is very simple. I don't know, gentlemen, what arrange- 
vient there is to talk about. Am always glad to see j'ou, but the division is 
simply twenty divided by two. When I introduce you to high-toned gen- 
tlemen from the wealthy clientage that my house has been gathering under 
its wing, we are content to divide equally with you. You understand, 
and I presume appreciate the favor. 

Baitem. Really, my good friend, we should be vQxy blind as well as un- 
grateful did we not appreciate the favors we have had of this kind from your 
great house ; but in coming here we did hope, after the patient attention we 
have given to your young friend in securing his bonds to the amount of 
twenty thousand dollars, you would naturally make deduction, first, of what 
we have had to pay for this mine — to say nothing of our professional ser- 
vices. 

Stringent. [Lying.] I passed our check for five thousand dollars to the 
owner of the mine this afternoon to get deed for Mr. Littlebee. The deed 
and bonds lie in escrow, waiting our arrangements with you. We certainly 
ought to be credited with that amount before dividing. 

Weave [Blandly.] Gentlemen, I am sorry to have to discuss this mat- 
ter. Heretofore, though the sums were smaller, I have accepted the half of 
the totals you have got from any clients. I cannot [with bland hauteur] look 
into the details of your puixhases. Understand, our friends are introduced 
to you only on this basis 

Baitem. My dear Mr. Weave, rest assured that the little matter of a few 
thousand dollars shall not stand in the way of a continuance of the pleas- 
ant business relations you have done us the honor to open with us. 

Stringent. [Looking at his watch.] My engagement at the theatre. We 
must go. Good evening, Mr. Weave, we '11 meet you at your bank in the 
morning. 

Baitem. And will permit no differences to mar the harmony of our bus- 
iness relations. Good night, Mr. Weave. 

Weave. Good night, good night, gentlemen. Always charmed to see 
you. [Exit.] 

[Enter Mrs. Weave {^Isabella Vernon') greatly agitated and en dishabille.] 

Mrs. Weave Mr. Weave ! Mr. Weave ! Robbers have been in the 
house this very evening while we were at dinner. My diamond tiara is 
gone! and I don't know what else!! 

Weave. Are you quite sure ? 

Mrs. Weave. Am I a fool .? Can I not tell whether they are gone or 
not? Did I not take my large jewel box out before dinner to select what 
I should wear to the Vanderbilt's this evening, and take from it the tiara 
and the large solitaire, and throw the latter in the box again, and leave 
the tiara on the dressing case ? I just came out of the bath room to dress 
when I miss the tiara. My dressing maid saw it where I left it before din- 
ner. She dined when we dined — wentjup with me and exclaimed — " where 
is the tiara? " The window was open. Some robber scaled the grille on 
the next house when we were at dinner and got out with it, perhaps out of 



12 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

the front door. Can't you start the police on the track — instantly ? * * 
Why! you 're as stolid as a post ! Don't you intend to do something ? 

Weave. Mj' dear Isabella, the first thing to do is to plan what to do. I 
will telephone for the chief of police at once. In the meantime see if all 
the servants are in the house. 

[Enter Marie, the dressing maid.] 
Mrs. Weave. {With a start.] Where 's my laundry maid, Molly ? Look 
for Molly ! [ Telephones from the hall to the laundry for Molly., who is not in the 
house.] I don't want to suspect Molly. 

Weaz>e. I will put the police on her track. 

Mrs. Weave. No ! you will not ! / will not have my servants advertised 
thieves. How cool you are! [Suddenly changing from excited impetuosity and 
coldly sarcastic] But a diamond tiara is nothing to the rich Mr, Weave! 
Go, then, and get Tiffany's opened, and have another here before nine. 
Consult with the police at your elegant leisure, but remember we are to be 
at Vanderbilt's at ten — we — and the tiara! [Exit imperiously.] 

Weave. [Alone. Telephones to chief of police.] No sooner gathered in than 
out it leaks. That tiara cost just the amount of Littlebee's money — a thief 
has got double my share I and the raging queen must have another, as if 
they grew like blackberries! And I, who dare all things in Wall street 
might as well be in the flames of hell as disappoint her to-night — and she 
wont stop with the cost of the old one either. The more I make, the 
shorter of money I seem to be. But that woman — ^My God ! one might 
as well run into a cyclone as face her to night without diamonds that 
eclipse all others. Diamonds or death! Bah! she 's too much for Weave. 
[Sits and broods., then goes to the window.] 

[ Bell rings ; enter chief of police. ] 

Chief. Good evening, sir. What 's the business. 

Weave. Wife's room entered while we were at dinner ; diamond tiara 

gone. 

[Mrs. W. enters.] 

Chief. Good evening, madam, sorry to hear — 

Mrs. Weave. Not a particularly good evening, sir, for me. 

Chief. Will madam describe the article } 

Mrs. Weave. A diamond tiara of fifteen stones — the centre one the 
largest in the city — made to fit my head. 

Chief. Do you suspect any of your servants .? 

Mrs. Weave. [Stamping her foot.] I never suspect my servants. But, one 
is out : Molly, my laundry maid, a pretty English blonde. I don't suspect 
her, but I want her back instantly. I will find you her portrait. 

Chief. I will find her. [ With a knowing smile.] Will you show me the 
scene of the theft ? 

Mrs. Weave. Follow me, sir. 

[Exit all.] 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 13 

SCENE 7. Littlebee's house evening after the preceding. Hall ; tak- 
ing off his overcoat. 

Littlebee. Ah, mj pet, I feel as if I must compress a whole month of love 

into one short evening. I must 

Dolly. Oh darling, that's nice— but what's the matter? You look 
excited — and sort of strange! 

Littlebee. I was just going to tell you that it is absolutely necessary for 
me to go out west to see about the Golconda mine. It must be opened — 
unlocked. 

Dolly. Charles ! You don't mean to say you are going to leave me. 
Stop! don't say another word ! You shall not go away. 

Littlebee. I must, I must. Hear me. Half my fortune is invested in 
this mine. Half my income stops till I get it out of the mine. When men 
make daring ventures for fortune, they must follow them up and see them 
through. Sweet wife, \embracing /ler,] I must leave you for a little while — 
just a little time. Forgive the necessity and be brave, Dolly. Why you 
little goose, you thought you would die w^hen I had to leave you for three 
days last fall! But when I got back weren't you just as happy as if I 
hadn't been away ? And didn't you like what I brought you ? 
Dolly. Yes, Charles ; I kiss the ring for you when you're gone. 
Littlebee. Well, then, when I come back from the mine think of what I 
may bring you. 

Dolly. Only bring me my Charles Frederick Littlebee. But I can't 
bear it. I can't bear it. You wont be gone many days, will you .? 

Littlebee. Well, let 's calculate. U I make no stop on the way, it will 
take six days by rail and stage to Shoshone. 

Dolly. Oh Charles ! Charles ! You 're going right in among the dread- 
ful Indians. Shoshone ! I 've heard of those horrible Shoshones. You 
shall not go I 

Littlebee. {Laughing. \ Why, you little scared deer, its going to be a rail- 
road station on the Oregon Short Line Railroad, and there's no more 
danger of Indians than there is at Niagara Falls, where you bought those 
moccasins of a "dreadful,'' " horrible " squaw. 

Dolly. Oh I 'm sick with fear of what may happen. 

Littlebee. Now, let's go on with our calculation. Six days to Shoshone, 
then two days stage to Rocky Dam— that's eight days to go out: palace 
car on the rails— splendid Concord stage to Rocky Dam. I suppose I 
must stay there several weeks to unlock the mine and get everything run- 
ning; for you must know, Dolly, \with an air of importance.'] I must see to 

everything myself : — 

'* He who by the plow would thrive, 
Must either hold the plow or drive." 

Dolly. Oh Charles, you think of so many things and I can only think 
of one — how can I live with out you .'' 

Littlebee. Say then that I must be gone about a month — about a month. 
Dolly. Oh Charles — not a whole month ? 



14 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Littlebec. I cannot say exactly — but nlnntt a month. Now can't you be a 
brave little wife that long without me ? Think of how your father left 
your mother to go off with the Seventh regiment in 1861 — to be gone — who 
knew how many years ? 

Dolly. If you must, go. \Sobbing.\ But oh, I shall hate Mr. Weave and 
Mr. Baitem. 

Littlcl'cc. Doliy, Dolly, Dolly ; [chidingly,] don't speak so of my best 
friends. Did not Mr. Weave get me that secretary salary — that enabled 
us to get married ? And did not Mr. Baitem, with a kindness I shall al- 
ways remember, give his time to me day after day, to give me an insigth 
into mining and mining investments .'' But for him, I should never have 
got hold of the Golconda. 

Dolly. Oh, but I shall hate him. 

Littlcbee. Well, well ; you '11 love me all the same, wont you ? To- 
morrow morning at ten o'clock I must be off. The little trunk I had for 
our wedding trip, let's have that down and pack, and talk over our first lit- 
tle journey together — eh, dear } Come ! 

[Exit with head bowed on his shotilder, raising it as the curtain falls, to say--,, 
"'I^ll try to be brave, Charley.^'] 

{End of Act I.] 



ACX II. 



SCENE I. Terminus of O. S. L., at Shoshone. Stage mud-wagon ; 
passengers piling in. 

Driver. Stage coach, gentlemen ! for I>ava Beds, Hell- hole. Mountain 
Spring, Rocky Dam, Boise ! Here 's yer stage coach, gentlemen. Hurry 
up! 

Littlebee. {In a polite tone] Where's Gilmer & Salsbury's "Concord 
Coach ? " 

Driver. Here 's yer A'?///-kerd coach Bundle in ! Hurry up I 

Littlebee. But I mean Gilmer & Salsbury's line of splendid Concord 
coaches. 

Driver. I tell ye this is it. Get yer ticket and seat damn quick, or else 
stay with the Shoshones. 

Jtidge Pilee. Stranger, the driver is correct. This is the damned swindle 
they advertise. Ye can 't better it. Get yer place at once. 

Littlebee. I paid for a through ticket, including Concord coach. 

Driver. The hell ye did. Why do n't ye get in then and injoy it while 
yer young } {IJttlebee goes to sort his baggage.] U. S. mail coach, gentlemen ! 
Pile in yer baggage — punch 'em in — fills in the chinks between ye, when 
yer rollin, yer know. Only keep a top ef ye can. Hallo there, Pong 
Whong ! {to Chinaman with big bundle,] better put that bed-room set on top! 



LITTLEBEE\S MINE. 15 

Whew ! ! [looking at Littlebee's bcautifiil trunk,] that^s a daisy. I say, Cap, 
[addressing Littlehee\ toss that purtj band-box on deck, [It is handed tip by 
a stage hand.\ I '11 lash her where the cayotes can see their faces in her 
when we get in the hills — that is — ef she don't chug into a lava hole fust. 
Here, Pong Whong ! sit on her, and tumble into that bed riggin' of yourn, 
ef ye can't stick on. 

Pong Whong. Me no slit on em — slip em off mos' some. Me no slitem 
top stagee. Me no pay for kill me. 

Driver. No .'' Why not .^ Take a state-room inside, then. I say, 
Tudge — look after the children. [ Winking and glancing at Littlebee.] 

Judge Pilee. Stranger, [to littlebee,'] better get in before that damned 
Chinee takes his pick of seats. 

littlebee. [ To the Judge ] Have you engaged your seat.? 
Judge Pilee. We don't have reserved seats in this part of the country, 
sir. This here is a free country. You 're in God's country now, sir. No 
damned aristocracy or monopolies here, sir. 

Tom Oreo. Oh, no! This stage is God's line, stranger — isn't it.? God's 
mud wagon line!! No monopoly! Ha, ha! [To littlebee.] Captain, bet- 
ter take the center of the middle seat; it's easier than the boot. You can 
tumble about every w'cxy and have some of the thick fellows to tumble into; 
and if you 've got any whiskey you can swing 'round the circle with it — 
form the capstan of the ship, as it were. 

Littlebee. [Looking in, smiling.] Being small you propose making me 
the pivot of the company ! But, really, I shall disappoint you as to the 
whiskey. Wont cigars do .? 

Oreo. That depends on whether you are a inultum in parvo fellow — that 
is — how many have you got .? 

Littlebee. [Slunving half a dozen in fine case.] Will this do .? 

Oreo. For a few minutes, Where's your box .? The judge and I and 
the senator here, {pointing to a large reserved nmn in the corner,] can make up 
the whiskey supply for the journey if the pivot will radiate the cigars. 

Littlebee. Box is in the trunk. Driver, will I have time to get into my 
trunk } 

Driver. No. What fer ,? 

Littlebee. Cigars. 

Driver. Always time for cigars and whiskey. While the lamp holds 
out to burn, the vilest sinner may return for cigars and whiskey. Hurry 
up ! [Littlebee climbs up to his trunk ] They do say I 'm a good judge of 
cigars, Cap, But I 'm not one of them foolish chaps that gives an opinion 
on the fust trial, I test the little devils to see how they stand fire. Fire 
assay is the great test in this country. We 're all preparin' fer the fire test 
in kingdom cum. There 's suthin in one smoke — not much — when there 's 
more in the box. The fust smoke may be damn bad. You '11 get my 
judgment on the cigars when we git to the bottom of the box, [Littlebee 
hands him two ] 

Littlebee. Just try these. 



16 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Driver. Thank ye. Them 's got the air of high toned delicacies. Ef a 
feller is careless he'll s waller 'em the first suck. Well, Cap., ef I should 
lose a few of 'em down my throat, I '11 see where you sit. All aboard ! 

Littlehee. I believe I 'd like to sit with you, driver, and see the country. 

Driver. All right; but ken yer hang on all night when we're agoin' 
through the lava craters ? 

Littlehee. Don't we have a hotel to stop at ? 

Driver. Well — yais — we make some stops at hotels \with a comical 
grimace'] — so to speak — to change bosses, but the best rooms is all taken. 

Littlehee. Who took them } 

Driver The bosses. 

Littlehee. How's that.? Don't they make any provision for stage pas- 
sengers ' 

Driver. Certainly. Provision enough — bacon an' beans ; sometimes 
onions an' beefsteak, fried till it makes yer mouth water. 

Littlehee. But I mean provision for sleep. 

Driver. Why didn't ye say hunks then .? No, Cap., there aint any time 
fer passengers ter bunk when we 're swappin' bosses. 

Littlehee Then I 'd better get inside. 

Oreo. Of course you '11 get inside, unless you want to flap the driver all 
night with your ears or tumble into roadside canons. Get in, get in. Cap. 
Look out ! don't spill those precious cigars. They 'd leak through the bot- 
tom of these mud wagons into dust too deep for resurrection. \ Littlehee tries 
to stow himself in a seat, Oreo kindly helping him and holding his cigar hox. The 
hottom of the stage filled tvith haggage and freight up to the seat Littlehee gets 
one foot down to the floor and the other high up., bringing his knee near his chin.] 

Oreo. There! is n't that snug .? 

[Sitiiation. Jttdge Pilee in one back corner, the senator in the other and Oreo 
'^etiveen them. On the front seat a wearied mother and child and big boy Little- 
bee on the ??iiddle of the center seat with the Chinaman on one side of him and a 
sottish miner on the other. ] 

Driver. All ready? \Cracks his whip — horses dash off" in a dotal of dust : 
the mud-wagon creaking and rattling]. 



SCENE 2. Stage unloading at Rocky Dam. Passengers covered with 
dust, getting out stiff, cramped unrecognizable. All shaking them- 
selves and limbering. 

Oreo. Well, gentlemen, here we are — safe and sound in God's country 
by his great anti-monopoly mud-wagon line. Judge how 2iv& you ? Enjoy- 
ed it of course. No aristocracy, no monopoly, on this line ! Dust free 
and untramelled as the birds of the air, rolling in golden elouds on the 
chariot wheels of the morning — mud-wagon. Glorious, isn't it? Isn't it, 
Judge ? 
Judge. Damnable. Hell on wheels. 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 17 

Oreo^ What? Hell on wheels in God's country? Why, man; you're 
disrespectful. 

Driver. [ To Pong VVIiong — -tossing' his bedding do%vn on the zv/icels, and cover- 
ing all with a fresh chnid of dust.\ Here! Pong Whong! Take up thy bed 
and walk. 

Pong. You bleaks my bled you play me. You tarn. You makes play 
me plenty-fife dolla fer tam go-to-hell stagee. Now you bleaks my bled. 
Me fixee you. Me fixee you sloup slometime. 

Driver. Fixee up my soup — poison 'em up, eh. Pong? Can't hurt a 
stage driver on this line. We 're all brass lined and copper bottomed. 

Pong. Me fixee you ' 

Oreo Well, Captain Littlebee ! Isn't this the happiest moment of your 
life? In God's country and no extra charge? My God, man, you look as 
though you were not appreciating your pilgrimages. Considering the vile 
things we are and the infinity of torments in store for us, arn't we rather 
lucky dogs to leave the world, the flesh and the devil behind us, to bloom 
in the sunshine of this hospitable country where neither monopolies or 
aristocracies prevent us from being as dirty as we please ? How is it with 
you, Judge ? You don't enthuse ? 
Judge Hell and damnation. 

Littlebee. [Shaking a clond of dust from hi??iself] Bah ! 

Oreo. [ Going to the wash basin betzveen the Jtidge and Littlebee.^ turning first 
ito the Judge while washing.] To which part of the country do you refer? 
Not to God's country, I hope. [Then turns to Littlebee.] Mr. Littlebee, 
from one of your cheerful and kindly temperament your disgust, not to say 
ingratitude, surprises me. Beyond the influences of a corrupt and debasing 
civilization — that 's the term for it — is n't it, Judge .'' — and safely delivered 
out of God's own mud-wagons — why not say — happy. 

Littlebee. I have 't learned to lie, yet. 

Oreo. Lea.rned ! Ha, ha ! Don't have to learn here ,' It's in the air, 
sir. Lies are lighter than the mountain air. They float up in unseen strata 
from all the great east, and lay in films of golden vapor on all the 
mountains of this metaliferous country. You breathe them. Don't have 
to learn. Fancy here crystalizes into fact, so that one breathes lies in and 
out, till they seem the very breath of life — the sincere convictions of 
honest souls! 

Littlebee. More's the pity. 

Oreo. As well blame a man for the absurdities of his religion when the 
comfort comes of the absurdity, as to slur a miner for the continuity of his 
fictions — his faith — his evidence of things not seen — his only substance of 
things hoped for. 

Littlebee. I haven't said a word against miners. But where 's the hotel, 
or inn, or whatever you call it, out here ? 

Oreo. We are in the midst of it, Mr. Littlebee. Make yourself at home. 

Littlebee. I 'd like a room. Where is the landlord ? 

Oreo. Behind the bar, there. He 's too busy now to show the other end 



J8- LTTTLE BEE'S MFNE'. 

of his establishment. Drink with me first, and then I'll get his best place* 
for jou. \Goes to the bar with an at-home azr.] 

Glasser. — {the prop j-ietor).. \Seeing Tom for the first time.'] Hallo! Tom>. 
Oreo ! is that jou ? How ai-e you, old fellow ? 

Oreo. As usual — overwhelmingly rich and liberal — of words. Mr. Lit- 
tlebee is a friend from New York. I want you to give him the best place 
JOU 've got. Now mix us the best drink you ever made. I wont askyou^ 
Mr. I.,ittlebee, what you prefer; for in coming to a new country I know 
you wish to learn the v^ays of the country, and Glasser's drinks are ways of 
pleasantness and all his paths are pieces of silver. \To Glasser] Mix for 
four. 

Glasser: S^Preparing drinks — to Li^tlehee.\ Are you just from New York .r 

Littlebee. Yes, sir. 

Glasser. Out to inspect our mines, I suppose. 

Littlebee. Not exactly, but rather to look at my own, and direct its de- 
velopment. 

Glasser. What mine is that ? 

Littlebee. The Golconda. 

Glasser. I don't know any such mine. Is it in this neighborhood 1 

Littlebee. Why certainly — one of the — 

Oreo. \Tiiniing to Senator Smith and Judge Fike.1 Come, fellow suffer- 
ers on life's dusty road, let 's drink from the same spring — perhaps for the 
last time. I want our cheerful friend from New York to see what High 
Art is in the mountains. Glasser, I hope you 've fixed these in one of 
jour inspired moments. [ Tltey drink.] 
Judge Pike, [ Drinks., nods his head luiih silent, aivlisk apprmuil. ] 

Senator. Mr. Oreo, that is not bad. Our Senate caterer in Washingtoni 
couldn't improve on that. What do you call it — Mr. — Glass-eye — did they 
say.'' 

Glasser. No, sir I Glasser., sir. I call that my electric motor. 

Littlebee, Well named. I feel it tingling all through me already. 

Oreo. And the way it goes is about as near perpetual motion as any- 
thing yet invented. [ Turns to Littlebee ] You were about to say something 
about your mine, Mr. Littlebee, when we attacked the drinks. 

Littlebee. Oh — yes. I was merely sajing to Mr. Glass — Glasser, that I 
suppose it one of the great mines of this part of the country — undeveloped 
ones, I mean. I have come out to unlock its ores — wind up the machinery 
and put it in motion. 

Oreo. Is there machinery on the mine? 

Littlebee. Perhaps not. I was speaking figuratively. Really, I do not 
know. I am here to see it — to start it up — set it to producing — exporting 
— ore — bullion — coin, and things of that sort. 

Jtidge Pike. You 're a lucky man if you have a mine that produces 
something. The only products I 've seen are stocks and assessments. 

Oreo, And the principal imports and exports — superintendents. 

Littlebee, \_To Oreo.J What does the Judge refer to ? 



'LITT LEBER'S MINE. 19 

'Oreo. Elegant engravings on bank note paper—" This is to certify that 
"A, P. L. (a pretty lamb,) is the owner of one thousand shares of the 
"Segregated, Consolidated, Ophir, Potosi, Golconda Gold and Silver Min- 
"ning Company of Mogollon. Capital stock ten million dollars, in one 
"hundred thousand shares of one hundred dollars each, or ten million 
"shares of one dollar each, (it's immaterial,) signed by Daniel Greathead, 
"president, and Roger Caitiff, secretary. The wealthy John Robber, 
"O. Sogoodman and U. Smilenstab, directors. Office, New York City." 
-In old times such men were put in the stocks ; now they put stocks on 
other people. 

Littlebee. Ah, yes! I understand. Inflated bubbles of reckless specula- 
tion. Yes, I have read all about them. But mj' mine is a solid business 
investment of my own — no fraud or hifalutin about it. 

Senator. \ Pompously .'\ I like to hear that — like to hear that. Honest 
and intelligent mining— if/m/ is what is wanting to develop the boundless 
resources of this vast mountain country. I welcome you, Mr. Littlebee, 
and your money, to this virgin field. You, and men like you— men who 
will take Nature by the horns — as it were, and wrest from the stubborn 
■rock the gold and silver that move the world! 

Oreo. And who come in by the Star-route Senator ! What did you say 
was the name of your mine, Mr. Littlebee? 

Littlebee. The Golconda. Rather a high sounding name, I confess for a 
•mine I only paid twenty thousand dollars for; but then these sturdy pros- 
pectors must be pardoned for a little extravagant enthusiasm when they do 
strike it rich. As plain people name their brats Alexander, Napoleon, 
Daniel Webster, and the like, so I suppose the poor miner can't find any 
name too good for his big find. At least I imagine the discoverer of mv 
mine must have felt so when first its treasure opened before his eyes. 
\_Looks of aimised attention among miners in 6a r room.] 

Oreo. You have never seen it } 

Littlebee. Not yet. Hope to see it to-morrow. 

Oreo. Is it near here? 

Littlebee. Certainly. \Walks away.'] 

Oreo. [Aside, to Glasser.] (He 's been duped ; I don't want him laughed 
at.) Please show Mr. Littlebee his room before somebody else gets his 
traps in it. [To Littlebee.] You are tired and dirty, and must want to get 
into clean clothes. I will go with you to see that your room is all right. 

Littlebee. Thank you, thank you! I am tired, and do need to get out of 
this dirt. And — seems to me that motor has set me up a little — eh.? 

Oreo. Allow me to see you comfortably settled. [ They follow Glasser up 
a ladder.] 

[ End of Seejie 2 . ] 



20 LITTLEBEE'S ME\E. 

SCENE 3. Glasser conducting Oreo and Littlebee in a garret through 
a corral of blanket beds on the floor to the end, separated from the 
rest by a white cotton cloth. 

Glasser. Hope 3'ou '11 find this comfortable. 

Littlebee. [Gently.] Have jou no furnished rooms? 

Glasser. This is my best, sir. Mr. Goldburg, of San Francisco, president 
of the Great Mogul Consolidated, occupied it for a week. He was pleased 
with it ; and he made a handsome bar-bill, to boot. 

Littlebee. Oh, I shall get along very nicely in it, I 've no doubt. 

Oreo. Mr, Littlebee, you had better order up only what baggage you 
need immediately, and then come out and take the air with me. I have 
something to say to you. 

Littlebee. Thank you ; I '11 do so. I '11 join you— say in half an hour, 
[ Exit Glasser and Oreo. ] 

Littlebee. This man Oreo seems friendly. I like him. But his odd apol- 
ogy for lying don't indicate a man of honor. However, it wont do in this 
country to judge a man too hastily. He is interesting, anywaj'. And this 
is the best room. Glad Dolly can't know where I am. Bless her little 
heart, she shant know. I '11 drop her a line and make it all jolly. {Opens 
his satchel and takes out writing materials. ] 

[End of Scene 3.] 



SCENE 4. A "street" in Rocky Dam. Oreo and Littlebee walking 

together. 

Oreo. [In a lo7i>, earnest tone.] Will you pardon me, Mr, Littlebee, if I 
venture a word of caution to you while you are among miners in this part 
of the country.^ 

IJttlebee. Do you fear personal violence lo me — or robbery? 

Oreo. Not a bit of it. You are as safe among these men as among men 
milliners on Fourteenth street. No, I mean quite another thing. 

Littlebee. What is it, pray? 

Oreo. I fear you are about to sufl'er a painful, a terrible disappointment 
in your mine investment. I beg you not again to make any allusions to it, 
or to your intentions concerning it, in the presence of anybody here. Bear 
like a man what you may have to bear, and say nothing. That is all. You 
will find that I speak as a friend. 

Littlebee. [Looking searchingly at Oreo.] Mr. Oreo, I don't understand 
what you mean ; but believing you mean well to me, I will follow your 
advice, 

Oreo. How came you to pay twenty thousand dollars for a mine you 
never saw? 

Littlebee. A gentleman in New York, thoroughly familiar with mines 
and mining, to whom I was introduced by a wealthy broker, canvassed the 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 21 

matter thoroughly with me, and after full investigation I was persuaded 
that it was a safe — an eminently safe investment. 

Oreo. Yes. Safe. Very safe. Safe as a deposit in the great deep. 

Littlebee. I hope you have no reason to impugn my friend's judgment or 
honesty. 

Oreo. I have. 

Littlebee. Do you know the Golconda mine "i 

Oreo. I do not. That is why I know you have been swindled. If there 
were such a mine in this region I would know it. 

Littlebee. But, my dear sir, I have the abstract of title under ihe hand 
and seal of the recorder of this mining district. My friend was not so care 
less as not to be sure of the title. I have it with me. \Slunos it to Oreo ] 

Oreo. This shows that there is such a mining clai))i as the Golconda on 
record. The claim exists. But what does it represent "^ If it were a mine 
in this region or even a prospect likely to become a mine, I should certainly 
have heard of it. I hate to assume the part of a bird of ill omen, but I have 
seen enough of you in our hard stage ride to like you. You were frank 
enough to let us know that you and your little wife cannot afford to lose 
large sums of money. I did not know, till you let it out at the bar, that 
you were the victim of a cruel swindle: gaily coming out as if to take pos- 
session of a fortune. 

Littlebee. Say no more. I will see the property. My friend in New 
York told me any miner of the region would conduct me to it. 

Oreo. Will you permit me to find it for you, and to go with you .^ I 
may prove a more discreet friend than any mmer you may happen to pick 
up. 

Littlebee. Certainly, Mr. Oreo ; gladly. When can we go .'' 

Oreo. To-morrow. I will this evening find where it lies, and we can 
quietly mount our horses to-morrow morning early, and go to it. What- 
ever you may find, carry a stiff upper lip, and let no one hereabouts again 
know what you are here for. I called you away from the bar to your room 
in order to stop further conversation about it in the presence of the crowd. 

Littlebee. My God ! Have I indeed been swindled I I cannot believe it. 

Oreo. My friend, we are young. Time enough to lose and win many 
fortunes yet. You have made a bold sortie in business and met with a 
heavy loss. Draw in your pickets, close ranks, and fight it out. But don't 
advertise your position with fireworks. 

[ Littlebee takes Oreo''s both harids — presses them in silence. \ 
\End of Scene 4.] 



SCENE 5. At the prospect hole called Golconda Mine. An open cut 
in the rock, with no sign of any value. 

Oreo. This is it. You will see the name and location notice on the 
stake. 



22 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Littlebce. [ Looks at claim notice., on location stake. Takes out his abstract of 
title and compares description on the stake zvith the abstract. Finds it the same.] 
This is it. [Stands stock still and silent zvith bowed head. ] 

Oreo. \_Puts his arm around Littlebee and tvalks him azvay.'\ My good fel- 
low, will you tell me who it was that sold you this ? 

Littlebee. Mr. Baitem, of the firm of Baitem & Stringem, Boreel building. 

Oreo. And who introduced you to them ? 

Littlebee. Mr. Weave, of the firm of Weave & Grab, bankers, Wall street. 

07'eo. \_With passionate indignation.] Finished scoundrels! But one 
Tweed wore the stripes behind Blackwell's prison bars, though every little 
thief is dogged by the hounds of law and feels their teeth. But how few of 
these smooth villains ever feel the ragged edge of justice. Law digs a 
moat around the walled castles of these robbers who sit secure at their 
desks and hear the tick of the snares that fill with victims who know not 
how the snares are set, or how to punish the snarer. Hundreds of years 
ago feudal castles of robber barons were razed to the ground by their out- 
raged victims. Now — more cunning grown, these wolves have become 
gentle foxes and burrow safely under the fold of the lambs — caressing them 
into holes where they are eaten. And what does the law do ? The law^ 
frowns upon and punishes the poor fellow who seeks to question or jeopar- 
dize the rights of property in the fox's hole. But, Mr. Littlebee, this rav- 
ing don't help your case. What can I do for you ? 

Littlebee. Nothing. I '11 start for home to-morrow, a sadder and wiser 
man. What else cajt I do } 

Oreo. Return with me to my cabin and I will think the matter over. 
We'll sleep on it, and to-morrow morning perhaps some plan can be sug- 
gested for something better than going back to be jeered at by those New 
York foxes. Don't go back to the saloon, or hotel, as they call it. 

Littlebee. My God! I have no desire but to bury myself. 
\End of Scene 5.] 

SCENE 6. Mrs. Littlebee's rooms in New York, Dolly opening and 
reading Charles' first letter from Rocky Dam — handed her by maid. 

Dolly. Letter from Charles! Oh thank heaven! [observes post-mark.^ and 

he is at the end of his journey, safe. Dear fellow. [Kisses letter., opens and 

reads. ] 

Rocky Dam Hotel, ") 

Sunday Afternoon, June i. J 
My Darling Dolly. Safe and sound on the ground of Rocky Dam. 
Since I dropped thee a line from Blackfoot, I have been through purgatory 
via what is called a line of Concord coaches, over a lava and sage-brush 
desert to this rocky -wrinkle in the mountains. I wish I could tell you how 
pure and holy I have become after weathering purgatory ! But, oh horri- 
ble dust of the old volcanic fires! — I am still half smothered in them. 
Until once again clean I don't feel worthy to touch the hem of thy garment, 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 23 

my tidy, sweet little wife— even with a pen two thousand miles long. How 
you would laugh to see things here! Am in my private apartment. It is 
the end of the garret of an unbattoned barn with saloon below. I was 
shown through a passage in the centre of the garret between two rows of 
blankets spread on the floor for beds. This is called the corral. That is 
Spanish for cattle-pen. Your distinguised husband was assigned the 
guest's chamber, separated by a partition of sheeting from the common 
crowd. Think what a row of sleeping beauties I may have to walk through 
to-morrow morning ! Have been in but five minutes, enjoy the oddity 
of everything. I made one acquaintance on the stage who is interesting, 
though blunt — Tom Oreo, they call him. Have made an appointment to 
meet him as soon as I can get out of the thick dust that I still feel buried 
in. You have no idea how queer things are here. It is the contrast 
with all things at home that makes it queer— and yW/j .-—like a discord on 
the fiddle, you know — that sets you to laughing. Mr. Oreo, has told me 
things that are very strange about mines. Of course I am not well enough 
acquainted to know how far to trust him, but he seems to me like a square, 
good fellow, and he talks like an educated man. When I told him about 
the mine I had bought here, and what I paid for it, he said my friends 
Mr. Baitem and Mr. Weave were swindlers. What foolish predjudices 
people get against people without knowing them ! To-morrow we will 
ride out to the Golconda. Until I have seen it I shall feel uneasy, and I 
would give a hundred Golcondas to be once again at thy dear side. I 
am fearfully tired, love, and I know you will excuse this short letter. 
Good night, with a hug, and a hug, and a bushel of kisses. 

Thy loving 

Charles. 

Dolly. {Her face buried hi her hands.] Poor, dear Charles. [Takes 

another letter and opens ii. ] 

Mr. Oreo's Cabin, 

Monday Evening, June 2nd 

My dear, dear wife. Have been to the mine with Mr. Oreo, and am 

dreadfully tired after a hard ride all day in the mountains. Have seen the 

Golconda and must say—// is not a fortune. But since I am here, and spent 

half of all our fortune on it, I nnist—l must Dolly, make it up in some way. 

Mr. Oreo has told me that hundreds of men sink all their money on mines 

here, but the best men, he says, if they stay and work and don't trust to 

others, will succeed. So you see my road to success is assured. But I 

must keep to the road. I will succeed ! 

Sweet, darling Dolly— wont you help me .?— and brace me up .? I am so 

lonely without thee and yet you cannot come to such a place as this. 

Don't blame me for leaving thee. I must stay for some time to learn 

mining. Thy love is all my fortune and thy courage all my hope. God 

bless thee. Thy loving 

Charles. 

P. S. I forgot to say that I have come by invitation of Mr. Oreo, to his 



24 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

cabin, which is much decenter than the hotel — saloon, and he is kind as a 
brother to me since he has learned how I have been swindled. You ought 
to have heard his fiery indignation when he found it all out. You said 
vou hated them — Baitem and Weave I mean — before I left New York. 
You and Mr, Oreo would make a good pair for that. He says they ought 
to be behind prison bars on Blackwell's Island. The revelation is all so 
sudden I cannot realize it yet. My head is dazed. To-morrow I will 
be strong. Mr. Oreo is to plan somethmg for to-morrow. An rcvoir, 

my beloved. 

Thy Charles, 

[Dolly hows her- head with firm lip and tearless eyes .^ full of resolution: — then 
rises proudly and says : ] 

Dolly. Yes, Charles ; my courage shall give thee hope! 

[End of Act II.] 



ACT III 



SCENE I. Oreo's cabin at Rocky Dam, Oreo, Littlebee, Mike 
Quartzeye, Chris. Pickit. 

Oreo. This, Mr. Littlebee, is our country residence. I have insisted on 
your coming here for good reasons and wont hear to anything else. I 
have never before asked a man to bunk with me since I have been in this 
savage country. I havn't found one to my liking. I like you. If you 
don't like me you '11 soon find it out, and I '11 like you the better for having 
the frankness to say so. 

Littlebee. But, my good man, I 've nothing to do here. What caft I do : 
Thanks lor your kind offer ; but I cannot stay. I must go back to my little 
wife ; tell her all, and find something to do to earn our bread. My God I 
how I have been fooled! 

Oreo. Who hasn't } We are all fools! Brilliant fools or stupid ones, 
brutal fools and foxy fools, lazy fools or over-worked fools, lucky fools and 
unlucky— but the poorest fool of all is the man that don't fight harder after 
the first knock-down. I tell you, Littlebee, you 've got more good stuff in 
you than you'll ever know if you don't fight it out on this line — if it takes 
all summer. 

Littlebee. Oh if it were not for my poor little wife, I might stay and try, 
try, try soinething. 

Oreo. Don't imagine because she's a woman that she '11 wilt. You 've 
let out enough of your happy love without knowing you were talking of 
her to make me know that she 's good stuff. Show the iron that 's in you, 
and she '11 put an edge of steel on it. Stay here, test her metal, work with 
me for one year, strike for fortune in these mountains and she will match 



UTTLEBEE^S MINE. T9 

your work v/ith a resolution that will make your later years far hap- 
pier than if you now return to New York to be pointed at as the dupe 
of those city thieves. I 've settled it! There 's your bed ! We board 
outside! 

Littlebee. But what can /do. 

Oreo. I '11 tell you. First, as you let the cat out of the bag yesterday at 
the bar, there 's no use trying to conceal from the miners that you've been 
"sold." These miners "have all been there," — all lambs that somebody 
has sheared— but they have stopped bleating. They '11 have a fellow-feel- 
ing for you when they know you 've been cut close. I '11 see that it turns 
to your advantage. I've arranged that you go prospecting with two as 
good miners as carry the pick. They '11 be truer friends than your Wall 
street men. You '11 learn more in a month than you '11 ever want to for- 
get. Nothing venture, nothing have. If you don't find a fortune, you 
wont lose one. It will cost you nothing and will bring you health, hope, 
and something to talk with Dolly about more cheerful than what you have 
to go home on now. Are yoxx sure of doing better in New York .? 

Littlebee. No. Only love makes me a coward. 

Oreo. It will make your wife brave. 

Littlebee. I'll do as you advise. But, oh how happy we were — we imrt. 

•Oreo. "The purest streams of human love 

Flow naturally — never! 
But gush by pressure from above 
With God's hand on the lever. 
The first are turbidest and meanest; 
The last are sweetest and serenest.'' 

It is the cold stream born in the granite hills that flows on to sparkle in 
vales of Avocha. Here are my men. 

[Enter Alike Qiiartzeye and Chris. Fickit.] 

Mr. Littlebee — Mike Quartzeye — Chris. Pickit. Boys, I know you '11 
like each other. Better start this afternoon and make camp early. Little- 
bee, you'll take my blankets. The boys know you're a tender-foot. 
Don't pretend to anything else. 

Mike Quartzeye. 'Av n't ye never camped? 

Littlebee. No. But I can. I 'm awfully healthy. 

Chris. You'll do. A fellow don't know what he's made fer ef he 
tias n't bunked on the pine leaves. 

Mike Quartzeye. Dam'd h'if h'l can sleep h'if h'l don't feel the rock h'un- 
der me. 

Oreo. Mike! don't swear any more than necessary. My friend is a little 
tender in the ears yet. Bottle it up till you strike a mine. 

Mike Quartzeye. By G-— d [swallows it,] h'l '11 swaller h'em, Colonel, h'if 
h'it makes me sick h'at the stomik. 

Littlebee. What shall I need to carry } I've got a shot-gun breech-load- 
er, and a Smith & Wesson. I 've never fired 'em, but I know which end is 
which. I can hit a mountain if you '11 set it up. 

Chris. Bully. You shake up the mountains — and I '11 bag the game. 



m LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Oreo. Leave the pistol in jour trunk. It will make the store clothes^ 
feel safe and save Dolly's husband from an early tomb. By the way, the 
first thing you want is a suit of miner's overalls. Get out of your woollen 
dust catchers and into these things {looking ai his oivn) as soon as possible. 
One change of flannels is all you want. Your English walking shoes are 
all right. Chris, will roll your flannels in an ore sack to go in the " Pack." 
Be ready in half an hour. I have a horse for you; 

Littlebee. You dispose of me as if I were your boy. It's all right. I '11 
be ready. [Exit.] 

Oreo. There, boys, goes a square, honest young fellow whose father left 
him well ofl*, but not a snob or a fool. He 's just married and no sooner 
married tlian he falls into the hands of these Wall street mine sharks in 
New York, and they sold him a mine. You know w^hat it is. Half his 
fortune he ^s been robbed of. The other half is 'nt enough for that young 
couple to live on in New York. I like the boy. You'll like him. I'll 
give my summer to set him up again. I've grub-staked you, but if you 
strike anything good, my half is his. Treat him like a gentleman, but 
make him a miner as fast as you can. A tender-foot sometimes brings 
luck. But, luck or no luck, remember he 's my friend. 

Chris. Tom Oreo, nuff"-sed. Ye started us and we aint goin' to forget it. 

Mike. 'Ell h'and damnation, Tom, w'at d'ye want to talk so much fur t 
Wen we seed ye shar' yer bunk wi' '^im didn't we know more 'n ye could' 
tell h'us? P'raps we Ml shake 'i& varnish h'ofF, but h'old Mike '11 tak' a rattle- 
snake h'in 'is 'and h'afore h'a scratch Ml cum to Tom h'Oreo's friend. 

Oreo. All right, boys. Here '^s to luck. [Poicrs out whiskey. \ Not another 
till you come back. Remember \ [Puts away liquor.] 

[ Three saddle-horses and two pack-horses to appear at the cabin ready to go.. 
Chris, tightens all the sinches. ] 

Littlebee. [Returning.] Well, here I am. [/// mi)Ter''s rig complete.] 

Oreo. Now, my boy, you 're ready for war. Work yourself cheerful, 
but do n't strike a bonanza hard enough to break it. Now let ^s see you 
mount. All right. Good luck to you. I'll meet you here between the 
first and fourth of July. {To the others.] Now boys leave your country for 
your country's good. Good bye ! Good bye! When Littlebee shakes 
the mountains with his shot-gun, look out for the quartz. 



SCENE 2. Camp in pine trees in narrow level between high timbered 
mountains, near a brook. Mike and Chris, undoing "pack" from 
mules — getting out the kitchen, provisions and blankets. Littlebee 
making a fire. Mike Quartzeye leads animals away to hobble them. 

Littlebee. Well, this is a beauty-spot. 

Chris. T' aint sage-brush desert — not much. Startin' a fire, eh ? Fire's 
sometimes good when thar 's cookin' to do. Can ye make her so she '11 
catch ? 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. "27 

Littlebee, Well, I suppose I can stick kindlings together and strike a 
snatch. 

Chris. Larnt that in college, didn't ye? Look out thar. Don't pile in 
too much till cookin' 's done. A fellow that's cookin' don't want to be 
cooked. Miners don't like to spile thar complexions. 

Littlebee. Well, how 's that for high } 

Chris. That'll do. Now fill this down to the creek, an' we'll soon have 
things sizzlin'. [Chris gets out flour, baking-.powder, bacon, ett., 7vhile Lit- 
tlebee is gone for water.] 

Littlebee. Here's your water. [Drinks out of the pail.] Good gracious! 
how sweet it is. 

Chris. Now, while I 'm makin' the bread, spose'n you take that ar hatch- 
et and cut a lot of pine truck. 

Littlebee. What 's pine truck ? 

Chris. Whar 's yer college larnin^ .? Cut a lot o' them little pine bran- 
■ches an' make a bed of 'em. [Littlebee goes to cut and Chris mixes Jiour and 
water and baking- pozuder and puts them hi the '"''dutch oven " on the fire, then cuts 
hacon. puts it aside and goes where Littlebee is cutting txvigs, takes the hatchet and 
slashes down more in a moment than all Littlebee had cut.] There, now, lay 'em 
down — butts this way — so. [Goes back to ptit on the bacon. Littlehee goes on 
with the bed making. ] 

Littlebee^ What 's the diiference which way the butts go ? 

Chris. I 'il show ye when the bacon 's on. [Puts it on and then goes back 
to Liitkbee.] Hallo ! that would n't be any better than a feather-bed. Here, 
le' me show ye, [Makes a deep thatch zvhile Littlebee tvatches.] There, now; 
ken ye finish it "i 

Littlebee. I '11 try. 

Mike. [Returning from iJu animals .] The 'osses h'is snuffin' 'roun' like 
h'as h'if they smelled b'ar. 

Littlebee. Do you have bears this near ? 

Mike. H'if they don't 'ave h'us fust. B'ar likes pigs h'an' things that's 
mixed h'up with folks, ye know. H'it's h'a dam' purty place fur a b'ar walk, 
this h'is; h'and h'if one h'of them cinnamon 's takin' a constitutional, h'its 
not me that's got the bad manners to spile h'it ; but h'if they 's comin' fur 
bacon 'fore we h'eat h'it Cap'n, you '11 'ave to show 'em the door. 

Littlebee. If one should come, what would ji/^w do ? 

Mike. Cap'n, that 's too 'ard fur me. H'l wouldn't want to see you 
^ugged. H'l 'd be jealous. But h'if 'e set to chawin' yer, I couldn't for- 
give 'im — an' h'l' d go fur 'im, 

Littlebee. How would you go for him ? 

[All squatting around the fire for supper and helping themselves as they talk 
— breaking the hot bread as it comes from the oven.] 

Mike. H'l'd get h'off with the rifle h'an' h'l 'd plug 'im, h'an' pr'aps 'e 'd 
drop you, h'an' then Chris 'ud go fur 'im with the h'ax; h'an' h'l 'd plug 'im 
ag'in, h'an' 'e 'd peel Chris h'an' pr'aps h'l 'd settle 'im with h'another lead; 
pr'aps 'e would n't settle. B'ar 's h'onsartin. 



2g LITTLEBEE'S MIKE. 

Liitlebee. Pleasant. \ Eating heartily. \ 

Chris. That '11 do Mike. I tell ye Cap. ef ever the bar smells Mike^ 
that '11 let me an' you out; an' the b'ar wo n't go to town fur pig that night, 

Mike. Yes, 'e'd know you'^re too tough fur h'any good use, h'an' 'e 'd jes'^ 
break ye h'up h'a little, h'an' fin' ye wan't wuth h'^eatin'; but the Cap'n 'ere^ 
the b'ar. likes them tender city chaps. 

Chris. Why, Cap., if the bar should come, Mike 'ud be so scared he'd 
tumble into the fire, an' the b'ar 'ud wait fur him to cook, while you an' me^ 
Cap'n. Cap'n, w'at 'ud we do? 

Littlebee. My legs are so short, Chris., I don't know what I could do. 
Guess I'd wait and see how the bear liked Mike. If the bear filled up on 
Mike, we might compromise with the beast and let him have Mike if he 'd 
let us go. 

Mike. Pards, ye don't know b'ars. Them h'an' me 's good friends. Wert 
h"l goes h'out to thar camp, h"! takes the best they's got, h'if they 's h'out. 
Wen they comes to my camp, they takes the best h'l 's got, fur then h'l '& 
h'out. H'it 's allers good manners with b'ars to be h'outside w'en they 's 
h'inside. 

Littlebee. But in earnest ; I've always heard that bears hug and strike,, 
but never go for men to eat. How is it, Chris.? 

Chris. The fact is, bars is like us. You 've got to know each b'ar. 
Once in a while, thar 's a man that'll kill to rob ye, but they 're not comin' 
along frequent. So with b'ars. Then again, thar 's men that '11 shoot if 
ye 're showin' ver pistol who wouldn't raise a hand agin ye ef ye didn't 
show the hurtin' tools fust. Jes' so with b'ars. Now, ef ye're goin' ta 
study b'ars, ye want to begin with a quaker b'ar. But the cussid beasts 
hasn't anj' directory to show you whar you want to go for them you 
wants to see. Thar 's the trouble. I don't think b'ars ever come fur a feller 
just to eat him, but when they hurt him bad so his light goes out they 
won't see him spile. But don't be scared Cap'n, Mike 's a bully b'ar hunter 
and knows how to let 'em alone. I 've got a rifle that '11 settle 'em if 
they '11 only set fur their picters, and that little shot-gun of your 'n if you 
can plug him in the eyes is as good as a gatlin' gun. The main thing a 
man wants when he 's studyin' b'ars is — distance. 

Littlebee. Yes — perspective. 

Chris. Now, Mr. Littlebee let's finish that bed o' yourn. You want a 
bolster, and a foot board. 

Littlebee. Yes. Where are they? Are you going to get them off the 
trees, too ? 

Chris. Of course. \Mike goes out zvith an ax and brings ha^k with 
him two logs — one for head and one for foot and stakes them in place, then 
arranges the pine boughs over them.'\ 

Mike. Ther' now! Chuck h'in yer pine; bring ver blankits. 

Littlebee. Here they are. \Chris. and Littlebee spread them.] That is a 
bed fit for a king, [caressing the elastic cushiott it makes,] soft as down, and 
fragrant as a rose bed. 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 29 

Chris. Now turn in Cap'n, an* I '11 show you the miner's tuck. 
[ Littlebee takes off coat and hoots and throius himself upon it.] 

Littlehee. Here goes. 

Chris. Stretch out. Now h'ist yer feet quick, an' catch the blankits 
under 'em. \Littlebcc docs so and don't tuck. \ That has the appurance of a 
failyer. Git up ! Le' me show jer. \^Gets in and makes the tuck flap.] 
Thar now! Yer git in ag'in. [Eittlebee gets in and makes it perfectly; then 
(Mo'is. tucks the blankets all ai'ound hii7i and gives him a little pillozv Oreo has had 
put in for him.] Here 's the Gunnel's piller. Now Gap'n, dream on yer 
sweetheart. We '11 call ye when breakfast is ready. 

Littlebee. But where ''% yotir bed, and Mike's? 

Chris. Bless yer soul, we don't bother fer a bed w'en the groun' 's soft 
as this. It 's devilish cold up here o'nights an' we do roll in among the 
blankits as if they wur our gals, but groun' 's good 'nough fer us ter settle 
our old bones on. Good night, \Mike has spread blankets for the two and 
turns in.] 

Mike. Good night, Cap'n. Don't wait fur the h'angels 'arp h'in the 
'ills. Go ter sleep, h'and ther b'ars 'I be yer guardian h'angels. 

Littlebee, Good night, all. 



SCENE 3. Littlebee, Chris, and Mike, back in Oreo's cabin at Rocky 
Dam. Littlebee sits dejected, with a pile of letters from his wife, 
looking at dates to get the latest first. Tears and reads. 

Littlebee. I must know first if she thinks I have deserted her. \Reads :] 
Oh, my darling Charles ! What has become of you .? Twice I have packed 
to start to find you, fearing something terrible has happened. The first 
time, brother Jo. brought in a gentlernan who had been out in that savage 
country. He told me how safe it is ; and when gone on a prospecting 
tour there is no possibility for weeks and months to get letters or to send 
them, and that if I could see jou in the mountains I would find you as fat 
and happy as a forest king. But the last time I was about to start I had 
dreamed two nights that the Indians were following you and that a huge 
bear was in fi-ont of you, just going to hug you to death. It was too awful. 
I was all ready to take the train West when I got a letter from Mr. 
Thomas Oreo, your friend, telling that he had heard from you up in the 
mountains and that you were enjoying roughing it, but almost crazy to 
hear from me. He said he could find no way to get my letters to you 
until your return ; that there were no Indians in that part of the country 
and that the bears at this season never hurt anybody. And he said such 
pleasant things about you in his short sort of way, that I kissed the letter 
as if it were from you, Charley, and said to my poor heart — patience, 
patience. Oh, Charley, don't stay a day longer in that horrid country 
after you get back to Rocky Dam. What can you do there .? Come back 
to your little Dolly. My heart chokes when I think of what may happen. 



80 LITTLEBEE\S MINE. 

I cannot write more now. Dear, dear Charles come home. I cannot live 
without thee. Thy own 

Dolly. 

Littlebee. Yes, Dolly, {kissing the letter^) I will go back to thee — sweet, 
sweet little wife. True enough — what can I do here .^ I have been a 
month in the mountains, chasing the prospecters will-o'-the-wisp that leads 
now here, now there, where snows crest the mountain ridges and night 
winds sweep with chilly breath ; where the hot sun blisters the shaley st^p 
that must be climbed with panting heart and aching bones, to know if 
'■'•signs of mino-al'" will lead to the promised mine ! Day by day, week by 
week, month after inonth — for a life time perhaps — who knows.? — the 
weary chase may continue, * * * A month out! Result, nothing I 
Mother and brothers in one — Mike and Chris, have been to me. 7'hat I 
have to thank human nature for. Yes, and thankful that I am strong and 
healthy as a young buck. I suppose I must saj' that I have learned some- 
thing. I certainly know now what a consummate ass I was to think be- 
fore I ever saw a mine that I knew something about mining. * * * 
Whew ! but what an appetite I 've got ! And sleep .'' Why, I never knew 
before how much a man can get in 'tween dark and dawn, breathing an air 
so crisp and pure on the mountain tops that it seems as if each time he 
opens his eyes he sees for the first time the glories of the world. But I 
must write Dolly, even if I get there by the same train that takes the let- 
ter. [ Opens another letter containing her photograph., kisses it., and gets out %vrit- 
materials. ] 

Chris. [Entering.] Well, Cap'n, how 's yer daisy ? All well at the 
ranche ? 

Littlebee. Yes, Chris., — would you like to see her ? 

Chris. Wa — 1, yes — see 'n yous no objection. [Looks at picture.'] Good 
gracious! ! — Is she your wife ? [Littlebee nods assent ] And you 've been to 
heaven and seen her — and then comes out here? Hell! What a man you are! 

Mike. Le' me see h'it. [Gazes as if he would drink it in., then looks at Little- 
bee, then at the picture and exclaims :] Lord! — That h'aint your wife, h'is h'it ? 
[Littlebee nods.] Je — rusalum! H'an' she 's livin' .? [Littleeee. Yes.] H'an' 
you come away h'an' left 'er fer h'other fellers ter look h'at? [Littlebee looks 
glum] Lord! h'l couldn't h'a done h"it. 

Littlebee. If the sight of her makes you almost swear, I 'm sorry I let 
3'ou see it. Boys, I'm going back to Dolly to-morrow morning, but for 
fear I may get lost, I 'm going to write to her first. 

Mike. H'an' she h'understan's common writin'? H'l wouldn't a thunk 
h'it. 

Littlebee. Yes, Mike, and you 'd like her. 

Mike. Lord — Cap'n! — h'l 'd 'af to be w'itened 'fore letin' her see me. 
[ Goes out in a brotvn study J 

Littlebee. So Tom Oreo has been writing vay wife to relieve her anxiety. 
Thoughtful of him — a lucky thought too. By this time she would have 
been at Hell-hole. I shudder to think of her coming out here. No, no, 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 31 

no ! Oh Fate \ It shan't come to that. {Calls Chris. 'X Chris., didn't Col. 
Oreo say he would meet us here at this time.? I don't want to go home 
without seeing him. 

Oreo. {Coming in with a surge.'] Glad to hear it my boy! How are 
you? No need of asking. Rugged as a buck. Do you speak English yet.^ 
Littlebee. Why do you ask } 

Oreo. Because when a man has been a long time among the tribes of 
I-done-its and I-seen-its — he's apt to forget his own lingo. 
Littlebee. Perhaps I have not sazv those tribes ! 

Oreo. You'll pass! * * Mike tells me you 've had no luck this 
trip. You 've met "the common fate of all ; into each life some rain must 
fall — some days must be dark and dreary." But I 've got some sunshine 
for you. My other prospectors have got something. I have been over to 
examine their finds. They are more than good; and I'm going to take 
you over there and leave you there. 

Littlebee. Impossible. I leave to-morrow morning to join my wife. She 
cannot live without me nor I without her. I must go. 

Oreo. You don't look emaciated — or melancholy — or insane! Isn't that 
your wife's miniature there } 

Littlebee. Yes, I have just got it. 
Oreo. May I see it ? 
Littlebee. Certainly. 

Oreo. {Looking at it and then grasping Littlebee' s hand.] Ah, my young 
friend, you ought to be a little insane for home with such an angel lace as 
that in it. But you must not go home yet. Your wife looks the picture 
of health. 

Littlebee. And is as healthy as she looks. 

Oreo. Then she will have the healthy courage of love and faith in you! 
Why, my boy, she'll grow strong in heart and body waiting for you in 
New York, as you will fighting for fortune in Idaho. In the old days of 
the crusades. Knights left their lady-loves — not for a month — but for years; 
not to face hardships merely — but wounds, pestilence, famine, death! 
Which do you think the fair ones loved most — those who went out or those 
who staid home ? You too, are a crusader. Will you pay your wife the 
poor compliment to suppose that she will not spare you one year where 
there is no unusual danger, when your needs compel you to work some- 
where? Only let her see there is need of it, and she will no longer make 
you weak by calling you home from the fight just as the battle begings. 
You are her knight. Ask her if she wants you to desert the month after 
you have enlisted } 

Littlebee. Mr. Oreo, I hardly know whether you are more cruel or 
friendly. You shake my resolution. 

Oreo. A resolution to retreat after the first skirmish, ought to be broken. 
Let me show you a letter I 've got from your wife, and then say if you 
will stay or go. I '11 read it to you. 

Mr. Thomas Oreo.— Your very considerate letter relieving the 



312 LlTTLEBBlE'S MII^E. 

agonj of my suspense concerning my dear husband is received. I wa;^ 
already to start to seek him, foreboding some great ^calamity. Though 
you are an entire stranger to me, what my dear Charley has written of 
you, and your letters make me feel that you, at least, will not deceive him 
or me. You write that the investment into which he was pursuaded by 
New York men, proved a swindle; and that it was so shameful that you 
desire while he is out in the mining country that he may retrieve it by sac- 
rificing comforts and home for a brief season, and giving his whole energy 
to find something that may make up for his loss. Charles wrote me 
cheerfully and did not tell me he had been deceived, but I knew it in my 
heart as soon as I had the letter. If I were only with him to share his 
'aardships and to soften his disappointment, I would be content. You 
suggest, though you do not say, that that is impracticable — that men 7nust 
go alone in that country. If it is really best that he should leave me for 
the whole season I will submit, but oh Mr. Oreo, you do not know what it 
costs me. I cannot write him so. Be father and brother to him and I 
will pray every night to God to bless you and him as I do now. With 
grateful regard, Yours truly, 

Amelia Littlebee. 

There! my son and brother, don't you see how the brave little woman 
wants you to face the battle notwithstanding her heart says come home ? 

Littlebee. I do. But if after all, we are unsuccessful ? I have seen 
enough to know that where one strikes wealth, a thousand are dragged by 
hope to premature age, and miserable poverty. 

Oreo. And do you know what proportion of those who struggle in the 
great city "strike it rich" as the miners say.^ Is it any greater? Is the 
rugged health of the hills no blessing ? Is economy of living in these 
wilds no advantage ? Is the mortification of search for clerkly hire among 
your old acquaintance no spur to a short battle for independence here .? 
And even if you fail to find a reward in money will you not return a 
stronger and a prouder man with an experience worth something when 
you do return ? 

Littlebee. Perhaps. Oh, my friend, I can fight it out here with you — but 
alone I could not. The conceit is all taken out of me. 

Oreo. That's a good beginning. Now write to your wife — and then — olT 
for the mines,. and a new campaign. 

Littlebee. When .? 

Oreo. Early to-morrow morning. I must make arrangements .or the 
pack-train, and will be back at bedtime. \Exit.\ 

Littlebee. [LLead buried in his hands.] 

[ End of Scene 3 . ] 



LITTLK BEE'S MINE. -%% 

SCENE 4. New York. Mrs. Littlebee with a spinster aunt, in smaller 
and plainer quarters, reading Charles' letters written after his second 
start mine hunting; reads first to herself and then to her aunt. 

Aunt. Well, Dolly dear, what is the news from Charles? 

Dolly. Oh, Aunty! He seems farther off than ever. But he writes in 
good spirits. I really think he ts in good spirits this time, and not writing 
as he did at first, just to keep me from breaking down. Just hear how he 
■starts off"— dating his letter up on the mountain. 

High-Up, All Rock, Big Hope !) 
August 20, 1880. j 

My Precious Darling : The first chance for weeks ofTers to get a letter 
to you, and I feel as though I were a thousand miles on my way to your 
arms, at the very idea. God bless you. How are you .? And how am I 
jou want to know. Well, desperately healthy, as Willis said. Like a 
Viking bold, I stalk in top boots and would feel myself the biggest and 
strongest man in the world if it were not that all the fellows around me 
are much bigger and stronger. But you will want to know something 
more and better than what a big barbarian I 've grown to be. Well, first, 
Tom Oreo's mine that we came out to a month ago really promises to be 
something worth having. We are not only liable at any moment to strike 
it rich, as superintendents report when they hav'nt got anything in sight, 
bi^t we are actually piling up some ore — neither very rich nor very poor, 
Oreo says; but as Malvolio says when he gets the sword thrust — "'tis 
enough " — enough to keep up to our ears in the pleasures of hope. Up to 
our ears did I say.'' If you were to see me at this moment — rubber boots 
up to hip, oil-cloth slouch hat and overalls covered with mud from the pit 
— if you weren't my own Dolly, you'd go back on me and vow that dirty 
rough is not your husband; and that he has not only been up to his ears in 
the pleasures of hope, but over his head in the mud of ages. No matter if 
he is — his heart is clean and full of gratitude every day that he has a Dolly 
to love and dream of and work for. Oh, if I had but that twenty thousand 
dollars I was fooled out of by those Wall street sharps, to work this mine, 
I 'd soon show 'em my revenge. But I havn't and Tom is as poor as I am 
— yes, a great deal poorer in money ; but then, as he says, he hasn't any- 
body but himself to provide for, and all he has he is staking on this mine. 
He don't say anything about it, but I really think he is putting his very 
blood into it, more to bring me out right than on his own account. He is 
moviiig with dogged energy to get work along with just the least money 
that will do. He often looks wearied and worried, and I think is fearful 
that we can't develop the mine without more money than we have. He 
smiles pleasantly to see me hopeful and encourages me to be so, but when 
he does not know that I am observing him, he has a look of stubborn deter- 
mination, as though he thought the worst still ahead. Developing a mine 
he says is just the reverse of building a pyramid. You begin at the top 
with a simple square hole, but as you go down it widens on every side and 



84 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

with perpetual increase of cost. But never fear, we '11 make it a success. 
But, enough of this. I 'm dying to know how jou get on and how the lit- 
tle heir \Dolly is enceintc\] progresses. [Blus/ies and stops reading.] 

Aunt. Never mind, darling; [Kissfs he?-.] I know what he is thinking 
of. Don't worry. He is well. Yoit are well. We '11 all be happy yet. 
There, there! don't cry. 

Dolly. [Drying her eyes.] Here aunty — here 's a letter from Mr. Oreo — 
won't you read it to me, please ^ 

Aunt. [Takes it and reads.] My dear Mrs. Littlebee r I can't let the 
chance go hy to tell you how well and strong and energetic and hopeful 
your husband is. We have a mine. Patience and work, work and pa- 
tience — we mvist have to make it a success. Our means are small and the 
work is great, but if we continue to be strengthened by your hope and faith 
in us, ive will succeed. I have no wife nor mother, sister, brother or friend 
to care for and my heart and hope is all with your husband and you. It 
may be a long and weary road that we have entered on, but if we all pull 
together, we will succeed. Before the deep snows fall, Charles shall be back 
to you. We will have stores of provisions to last live months that we may 
be snowed in, and I will remain with the n"ien. May God bless you and 
yours. 



Thomas Oreo. 



Aunt and Dolly. [ Together.] He z> a friend. 
Dolly. Oh! he i? no false man. I love him. 

{Endof Act III.\ 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. Paris — fifteen years after the preceding act. Mr. and Mrs. 
Littlebee in parlors of Hotel L'Athene, with their two daughters — 
Oriette, age fourteen, and Tommie, (a girl,) age seven. Mr. and 
Mrs. Littlebee both grown stout. Oreo a little gray, but otherwise 
unchanged. 

[Persons — Mr. and Mrs. Littlebee.^ Oriette and Tommie Littlebee., Trench maid- 
Marie., Mr. Oreo, Mr. James Also.] 

[ A servant brings Mr. Oreo\^ card. ] 

Littlebee. Tom Oreo!! Good! Good!! Always on hand at the right time. 

Mrs. Littlebee. Yes, indeed! Dear old fellow! Show him right up. 

Littlebee. He is better to see than all the sights of Europe. 

Mrs. Littlebee. I was so afraid he might not come on time. 

[Enter Oreo. Litttebee and Oreo embracing heartily, and Mrs. Littlebee taking 
both his hands in hers with impulsive welcome. ] 

Littlebee. Welcome once again and forever. 

Mrs. Littlebee. And doubly welcome so far from home. 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 35 

Oreo. Well 1 — I rather think I am at home. 

Mrs. Littlebee. Indeed you are ! — and you 've come to stay with us? 

•Oreo. This evening, certainlj^. 

Littlebee. No, no, no ! more than that: — you must take one of our apart- 
ments right here. 

Oreo. We'll talk of that bye and bye: — let 's sit down and say how d'ye 
do, first. Where's Oriette and Tommie ? 

Mrs. Littlebee. Marie; go tell the girls Mr. Oreo is here. 

Littlebee. Here, old fellow, take this foot-oil {faiitetiil,) as they call it here. 

Mrs. Littlebee. [Laughing heartily ] Oh, dear ! Mr. Oreo, Charley's 
French is killing! He knows it so well, and yet he does make it so funny. 

[ Tom?nie^ the youngest girl, comes bouncing in and springs to Oreo''s lap.^ kiss- 
'ing him heartily^ Oriette advances shyly. ] 

Oreo. The same impulsive little Tommie. \Kissing her.] But who is 
this tall little maiden ? [J^ises and hisses her respectfully on the foi-ehead.] How 
you have grown in only these two years since I saw you ! Is this ind-eed 
the baby I tossed on my knee in New York those sad years when we wres- 
tled with that obstinate mine for our fortunes.^ But we ivon., did n't we ? 
\ Tossittg his head pj-ondly and comically to Mr. and iMrs. Littlebee.] How the 
years fly! And this my little God-child, my Oriette! who showed me her 
dolls only so little while ago ? — and [sadly] — so soon to be too tall to be 
caressed by her God -papa .? 

Oriette. [Archly.] I don't know that growing tall makes my love for you 
any shorter, Mr. Oreo. 

Oreo. [All laughing.] That's true ! The taller you grow, the longer 
you'll love me, — is that it.'' But you are very slender — will the love be 
slender too ? 

Tommie. /'// be your fat love, and sis '11 come in after me: won't she, 
Uncle Tom } 

Littlebee. Between them they will make it all right. Their love will be 
as broad as it is long. 

Mrs. Littlebee. [To Oriette.] Sit down, my dear, and let us hear Mr. 
Oreo tell us all about himself. [ To Oreo.] You once told us you were born 
in Paris. Have you relations here ? 

Oreo. No, not one. My family were New Yorkers, travelling. I was 
with them, mostly here, till I was ten; returned then to the States to schools 
and to college, and when I graduated, had money to travel — and travelled. 

Mrs. Liitiebee. How long were you travelling "^ I suppose you saw every- 
thing. 

Oreo. Oh yes, for two years I went the rounds of everything to get rid 
of money — swell hotels — in "society," [sneeringly] as our folks call it — 
gambling, girls, and galleries. A young man makes a precious mess of it. 
I did. Learned everything I had no need to know — and learned nothing 
•else. I took to the languages here as I did to the soup and the wines — like 
them all — like the French people too. If there is more humbug in their 
palaver than with us, there is less in their lives. They moralize less than 
our people, but they treat each other better. And how diO you like Paris .' 



3r6 LTTTLEBEE'S^ MEVE. 

Mrs. Litttlebee. Oh, splendid ! Such shops! such shops! such shops!' 
Littlebee. And chops — such chops! such chops! such chops! 
Mrs. Littlebee. [Springing up to box Mr. Littlebee' s ears — ivho jumps up and' 
dodges, \ You impertinent man! 

Oreo. Alas, that I should witness a family quarrel in this house ! I 
shall feel safer with an apartment at a distance ! But outside of shops and 
chops, how does Paris strike you ? 

Littlebee. Magnificent I But the subject is too big for me. We did the 
long gallery yesterday. Never was so tired before. If I were a corner-sir,, 
as my wife saj'S — 

Mrs. Littlebee. [Latig/mig.] Connoisseur! ^^ou mean. 

Littlebee. Well, as I was saying, if I were a corner-sir, I'd pray the Lord 
to turn me into a blacksmith if ever again I let 'em get a corner on me in 
that place. 

Oreo. Did you ever study Greek ? 
Littlebee. Yes. 

Oreo. Did you try to take it all in — Alpha to Omega — its history, phi- 
losophy, eloquence and art — all in one day t 

Littlebee. Don't make fun of me. It always made me sick to go into old 
furniture museums. I did try to make myself believe, in New York, after 
I got a little money to spare, that I was fond of Ah-t (art,) but it^s about 
as Fm fond of the sea — till I get on it. But I tell you, Dolly is way up. 
She gives me more than there is in the guide-book, and when I'm looking 
at some fine woman on the floor, she's sure to call my attention to a ma- 
dona on the wall — as if I had any use for more than one, after living with 
her so long — and so pleasantly. 

Mrs. Littlebee. Stop your nonsense, and let's hear from Mr. Oreo — what 
he has seen and done since we last met. 

Oreo. Well, to begin with, I met a man to-day in Paris who I think you 
have forgotten, but v/ho hasn't forgotten Mr. Littlebee, or Messrs Baitem 
& Stringem. 

Littlebee. /can't think who it is. 

Oreo. Do you remember Jim Also, the honest miner who sold you the 
Golconda — through the offices of Messrs Weave and Baitem & Stringem > 
Littlebee. Jim Also ! — surely, he is n't in Paris ? 
Oreo. Yes — large as life, and growing ! 

Littlebee. Well, well, well ! who next .- What luck has brought him here t 
Oreo. You know how you paid Baitem twenty thousand dollars for the 
mine ? And how Jim Also sold it to Stringem for one thousand dollars 
an hour before! But he did n't pay the thousand dollars, you know, till 
after he got your twenty. Then Stringem took Also to the theatre, and — 
Marie. Pardon, Monsieur — Madame, a gentleman want to zee Meestair 
Lee -tail -bee. [Llands card.] 

Littlebee. Mr. James Also ! ! Show him up, Marie. 
Oreo. This is more interesting than any story. 
Mrs. Littlebee. But what kind of a man is he ? 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 37 

Littlebee. We '11 soon see. \^Littlebee goes to the door to meet A/so,] 
Jim Also. Mr. Littlebee ? 

Littlebee. Yes, sir. 

Also. Hope I have not intruded by calling at jour private rooms. I 
hope you will excuse me: — I have had a great desire to see you once again 
— having heard much of you — out at the mines — since we met for an hour, 
once. 

Littlebee. Sixteen years ago, I believe. 

Also. Yes, sir. 

Littlebee. At the office of Baitem & Stringem.^ 

Also. Exactly. 

Littlebee. Mr. Oreo — Mr. Also. 

Also. Ah ! Mr. Oreo ! I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Oreo, 
already. 

Oreo.. I was just mentioning it as your card came up. 

Also. Not an unfriendly mention, I hope. 

Oreo. Had only got to the name, sir. 

Littlebee. My wife, Mrs. Littlebee — Mr. Also — and my daughters. 
Have a chair. 

Also. Thank you. It quite sets me up to find myself in such a circle of 
home-folks. It's awfully lonely in this great bedlum, and it 's good as new 
gold-diggins to see American folks that make it look like home here. 

Littlebee. Glad to give you the pleasure. And how has the world treated 
you since we met ? 

Also. For the most part, pretty rough: s-haved me so thin most of the 
time that the game has n't been worth the candle. Fried bacon, gravel 
bedding and blossom rock that didn't assay, empty pocket, empty stomach: 
— a dead-beat with glorious expectations for fourteen years, and "a ten- 
strike " at last: that 's all. 

Littlebee. And the money you got for the Golconda ? 

Also. Oh, that lasted only one night. In fact, come to think, I never 
saw it at all ! Stringem went to the theatre with me the very night when 
his noble-looking partner, Mr. Baitem, was so friendly as to permit you to 
become the purchaser of the Golconda. I never knew till years afterward 
what you paid for it. But I remember very well that night after the thea- 
tre, how Stringem, over a hot supper and champaign, let me into some of 
the secrets of the stock-board. He gave me points and told me just how to 
play 'em. He was about to invest ten thousand dollars on the same racket. 
I gave him my one-thousand-dollar check to put with his. I did n't see the 
color of the money afterwards. After waiting a few days, the good Mr. 
Stringem, with tears in his voice, informed me that he had lost all — his 
own ten thousand dollars gone and my one thousand dollars with it. I felt 
so sorry for him, that I did n't mind my little thousand, and told him to 
brace up — treated him — borrowed a dollar of him to pay treat; and then 
the kind soul, after all his misfortune, lent me money to get back to the 
hills. It was not till long afterwards that it dawned on me how he had run 
me through his hopper. 



38 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Littlebec. But were jou not in league with him to sell me the mine and 
to swindle me ? 

Also. Not much: not as you think it. I came back from the Rockies that 
time with a few hundred dollars saved from good wages paid in them dajs, 
to spend the winter with the old folks in Connecticut, Some of the boys at 
the mines told me to sell some of their claims for 'em, if I could — for any- 
thing they'd fetch. The district I came from had been blowed some in the 
city, and when I came down to ihe city, some of those broker-chaps were 
mighty curious to hear about my mines. Stringem was one of 'em. I 
showed him certified records of the claims and offered him the Golconda 
for fifty dollars. " Why," said he, "you would n't be such a fool as to sell 
a bona-fide mining claim in that district for fifty dollars, would you? — when 
you can just as well get a thousand ? — and the mine liable to be a bonanza.^ " 
It did make me feel as though I had set her up rather cheap Then he 
said — "Just keep your mouth shut about price and I '11 get you a thousand 
dollars for that claim." It was so good of him, you know, to take such an 
interest in me, and it made me so kind o' rich all over, to think of the mon- 
ey I could take out to the boys for their divy: so I told Stringem if he 
could make such a raise as that, I'd give him half. But he repelled the 
proposition indignantly — clapped me on the shoulder in his friendly way, 
and says, "Old boy, I wouldn't take a dollar of it from you. I'll get you 
a thousand dollars or nothing. Only you tell all you know good about the 
country and the mine, when I ask you, and keep that bit of ore you showed 
me. You're sure it came from that district r " said he. I told him I was, 
and more than that, it was found on the very mountain where the Golcon- 
da claim was. " That's enough,'' said he. Then he brought you in and 
asked more questions: — if I knew where the Golconda mine was .'* — if that 
was nH the same district where the great Silver-king mine was } It was. 
If it was n't in the same rock, — the same kind of fissvire — a t7'Hc fissure — 
and then if I had any sample of the ore from that mountain where the Gol- 
conda was located .'' I showed you the ore. He then asked me if any 
claims in that mountain was n't liable to strike it rich — like the Silver-king, 
for instance. Of course, I said — what's to hinder .? Now, Mr. I^ittlebee, 
that ore was found on that mountain. I don't know who left it there. I 
did n't lie, and I had no idea then, that I was helpin' those fellows to steal 
from you any more'n from me, tho' I can see how it looked mighty like it 
to 3'ou. 

Oi'eo. Ha, ha, ha! two pretty lambs you were! Lamb of the mountains, 
and lamb of the cockney fold ! ! — well met in Baitem's pasture ! And 
Stringem sheared you both in the same pen! [Laughs aloud.] 

Littlebee. Let those laugh who win. 

Also. So say I, Cap'n. 

Otco. Or, as the French say, those laugh best who laugh last. 

Also. I met Stringem in New York the other day. His nose was blos- 
soming, and his clothes hung loose on him — in fact he looked flabby and 
shabby and hungry. He was hanging around a restaurant in Broad street 



LirrLEBEE'S MINE. 39 

with such a hungry look on him that I slipped a dollar in his hand and 
told him to fill up and cheer up. He looked surprised. He seemed to kind 
o' think he knew me, but I left him before he could place me. I saw by 
his look that it wasn't the first hand mone^^ he'd taken — like as a hungry 
dog takes a bone, and said to myself, as Mr. Littlebee says, let them laugh 
that wins. 

Littlebee. {Jumping up and taking Also by the hand.] Well, well, well ; old 
miner! I never imagined you too were a victim of the bi-okers. I thought 
you were in full partnership in the spoils — in the "whack," as the thieves 
put it. But how did you get your start at last } 

Also. Just about as easy as Stringem got my thousand dollar cheek. 
You see Stringem's money took me back to the mines. I worked from 
camp to camp, like all the rest of the poor devils, depositing earnings in the 
bank of Faro. My good boarding house woman showed me the door one 
day just because I couldn't pay; — was refused whisky for the same reason; 
— had to go up into the mountains for work. One Sunday, me and 
another miner went prospecting in a wooded gorge, where we suspected 
there was a lead. Thank God, we struck it. It turned out good from the 
word go. Six months afterward I sold my half for twenty thousand dol- 
lars. That's how T 'm here to see the world. 

Oreo. Do you still deposit with the bank of Faro ? 

Also. No! I'm an ungrateful fellow, I don't; though everybody knows 
the bank keeps faithfully all it gets. Sir ! [tragically, with thumbs in arm 
holes,] I 'm a bloated bond-holder ! I have invested with the government. 
I support the government, gentlemen. 

Mrs. Littlebee. {Laughing outright.] That reminds me, Charley, of the 
time when you sustained the government — and sent for the President. 

Littlebee. And he didn't come. 

Oreo. You were both too late to come in with the big-bug financiers 
during the war, whom Montesquieu describes — Les Financieres soutienents le 
Gouvernement comme la cordl sontietine le pendu. 

Littlebee. And what may that mean .? 

Oreo. Why, that financiers sustain the government as the cord sustains 
the man it hangs. 

Also. Bully! Beg pardon, madam — /<^^<^ your pardon! Havn't got the 
brakes down on this rude old miner's tongue yet. But them financiers did 
stick old Uncle Sam pretty well, when the South was pepperin' us in 
front: — they went for his pockets right lively. 

Oreo. The great bankers and brokers had good times when the war was 
over playing that financier-cord business. 

Littlebee. Don't forget to credit the patriotism of my old friend, Mr. 
Weave. He told me that during the critical days after the battle of Get- 
tysburg, he gave da^-s and nights of sleepless thought to the subject of the 
restoration of the National credit. I 've been told he actually subscribed 
all his depositor' smoney to buy bonds for himself at thirty-nine cents gold. 
Wealth and the gratitude of his country were his reward. 



40 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

Oreo. Sublime patriot! I wonder how he is now. Have heard since I 
came to Paris that he had lost everything in stocks, and that he and his 
wife are somewhere in the city now. I had many a racy and happy day 
in Rome eighteen years ago with the beautiful Isabella Vernon, who 
became his wife. 

Mrs. Littlehee. Is it possible ! Did you know Mrs. Weave .'' 

Oreo. No ; not Mrs. Weave, but Miss Vernon. 

Mrs. Littlebee. I did not know her personally, but I have heard such 
strange things about her from those who did know her, or know of her in 
New York, that I am surprised, Mr. Oreo, that you and she were friends. 

O7'eo. When I knew her she was beautiful and rich; passionate, witty 
and sarcastic. Her wild will had been unbridled from childhood. To 
those she did not respect — an unreasonable tyrant. To those she hated — 
a cynic or a tigress ; but with all, no hypocrite, no falseness, no little 
meanness. She failed to marry the man she loved, and did marry, as 
many a good girl has done, the best rich offer that followed. The rich 
Mr. Weave, an able and slimy fox of finance, was the man. It was like 
wedding fox and tigress. She, impetuous, imperious, and direct ; and he 
palavering, plausible and a rogue. She would come to hate him as inevit- 
ably as lime-juice seeths at the touch of soda. 

Mrs. Littlebee. They say she was a perfect devil at home; — and j et that 
the servants all loved her. 

Oreo. Then she was something better than devil to them. 

Mrs. Littlebee. Of course — she must have been good to them. 

Oreo. And if all facts were known, there are more poor homes in New- 
York that bless the tigress than of those who speak well of the amiable fox 
who led your husband into his snare. 

Mrs. Littlebee. Oh dear ! How little we know people! 

Marie. Pardon, Madame. Are you not speek ove Meesaes Weave, — 
ze grande belle madame who eez seeck ? 

Mrs. Littlebee. Oui, Marie. What do you know about her ? 

Marie. Meester Weave eez die een zees house tree week ago — vere poor 
— vere poor. Eeze madame pay ze logement and ze funeralle and zen go 
to ze pettite apartement in ze toit — what you call — 

Mrs. Littlebee. Roof, Marie. 

Marie. Yais ze roof. 

Oreo. And is in this house, now ? 

Marie. Oui, Monsieur. 

Littlebee. This is a singular coincidence. We had looked forward to 
seeing you to night, old friend, as an unalloyed joy; but to meet Mr. Also, 
to learn from him the come-out of my friend Stringem, and now to have 
the shade of Weave, and the spirit of his wife all haunting us in this house, 
is an odd d^noument. 

Oyco. \Very gravely.'] Do not jest. We have come to one of life's 
great cross-roads, where each wonders where next, and what next .? It 
has made me sad. * * * j must leave you. Will see you all to-mor- 
row ; \takes his hat^ good night. 



LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 41 

Tommie. Oh, Uncle Tom, don'' t go. [Rushes to his anus and kisses him.\ 

Oreo. Who wouldn't go, to get such a hug as that ? Good night, all. 

Also. Mr. Oreo seems to be taken all in a heap. I see you all wonder 
as I do. I wont intrude mj company after the light 's gone out. [Goes for 
his hat.} 

Mrs. Littlebee. We are very sorry to see Mr. Oreo so suddenly saddened, 
and sorry that it must end your call. 

Mr. Littlebee. Call again, Mr. Also. We'll compare notes of experi- 
ence, at the mines. 

Also. Thank you, thank you. I shall be only too glad to see your 
friendly face again in the midst of this great menagerie. Good night, all. 

All. Good night, Mr. Also. 

[End of Scene i.] 



SCENE 2. A neat attic room in Hotel L' Athene, Paris. Mrs. Weave, 
emaciated, on a couch. A middle-aged servant with her. 

[A knock at the door. Servant goes to door and receives card from bell-boy — car- 
ries it to the bed-side and wakes Mrs. Weave from a state of lethargy. \ 

Servant. Madame, will you look at this card? 

Mrs. Weave. \ Reaches out her hand languidly — holds the card a moment tvith- 
out looking at it — then looks — (Mr. T. Oreo,) — looks wildly at it a moment — 
flushes., and closes her eyes — opens to read again — smiles — waits for a moment — then 
to servant slowly. \ Show — the — gen — tie — man up. [Beckons servant to bed- 
side.] Margaret, he is my brother — tell Garcon to show him up — and — and 
you — you go to the market and — bring me some flowers — violets and roses 
— don't hurry. Stop and see — your children. [^Servant goes, and Madame 
Weave rallies with a look of life and resolution. Soon Garcon opens the door and 
announces Monsieur. Oreo enters. \ 

Oreo. [Staggers with astonishment to seethe condition of Isabella.] Isabella 
Vernon! 

Mrs. Weave. [Coldly, proudly and clearly.] Isabella Vernon. 

Oreo. [Advancing with iinpulsive warmth.~\ yiy dear, dear o\di friend, can I 
not do something for you.'' \^Siezes her languid hands with such genuine 
emotion that she blushes and smiles. ] 

Mre. Weave. And you — do — still— care — for — what — is — left — of— Isa- 
bella Vernon.? 

Oreo. Always, always — and never more than now. Dear old friend — 
how you have suffered. How can I comfort you .? 

Mrs. Weave. Stay with me. It will not be long. 

Oreo. [Kissing her hand.'] I will. But you are not strong enough to 
talk. Shall I not excite you too much with souvenirs of the past, Isabella ? 
I will come again. 

Mrs. Weave. No, no. [Clutches his hatid.] Tom, you will never leave me 
again. Sit down on the bed, and let me look at you. * * * 



42 LITTLEBEE'S MINE. 

How strong and handsome you are ! * * Oh, Tom, Tom ! I am old 
— old before my time — and — dying. Thank God, thank God, you are 
here — you are here, Tom, I dreamed you were coming. I kneiv you were 
coming. You never loved me, Tom. — but * * * I — loved you — I 
love you now, 

Oreo. Isabella — no woman but you was ever graven on my heart. 

Mrs. Weave. Oh Tom! — say that again — is it true ? [Hides her face in 
her hands .^ then rising in bed. stretches out her arms to his einbrace and fondles hifn.] 
Yes, you loved me, but dared not marry me ! I thought so — sometimes 
— I guessed it. Poor Totn. Good Tom. {Caressing his head.] I love 
thee. I love thee. You were right, Tom : but you killed me. Let me 
die in thy arms, Tom; and death will be the sweetest part of all my life. 

Oreo. Isabella ! — have I been a murderer .'' Live, oh live for me now 
and I will atone for all that is past. [Sitting up in bed she encloses his face be- 
tween her hands to hold him fast., and looks lovingly and wildly in his eyes.] 

Mrs. Weave. Top late, Tom; too late. And I am so happy now. Let 
me die— let me die — now — happy — happy — happy — my Oreo — my — Oreo. 
\^She kisses him rapturously and then sinks exhausted with increasing pallor. Oreo 
easing her head back upon the pillow while her life seems to ebb rapidly. In a few 
moments she opens her eyes to his., stretches her arms to his embrace without other 
movement, and breaths out] An re voir — au revoir, [Her eyes to the ceiling with 
an expression of joy remaining on her face. Servant enters.'^ 

Margaret. Flowers for Madame. 

Oreo. Give them to me. [He seizes them and passes theni before Isabella'' s 
face to catch her open eyes which retain their joyful look., but they do not 7nove — and 
Oreo falls prostrate to the floor.] 

Margaret. [Falling on her knees at the bed-side.] Poor dear — it is all over. 



'end.] 



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